


Till Death Do Us Part

by HCKYGRL72



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Loss, Parentlock, Pregnancy, Sexual Content, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-03 01:36:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1726391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HCKYGRL72/pseuds/HCKYGRL72
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set up in flashback form...Sherlock remembers his life with Molly. Rated Mature for future chapters</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I have to be honest...this is my first Sherlock fan fiction and its a bit angsty and a little sad, at least in the beginning. I was inspired by artbylexie tumbler page regarding the Holmes clan. Absolute perfection those drawings and certainly are worthy inspiration for my inner muse. Check out her blog - its fantastic and brilliant, all in one.
> 
> I am a Sherlolly 'shipper as I have discovered a great many are out there. So here's to you
> 
> I wanted to really delve into the idea that what Arthur Conan Doyle wrote about was after Molly was gone from Sherlock's life. How he became the Sherlock Holmes that Doyle wrote about. I think some major things happened in Sherlock's younger (mid 30s to his 60s) that changed him permanently. This story attempts to fill in those major things.
> 
> I tried to make clear when things are in flashback by using italics, however sometimes it like a flashback within a flashback (think INCEPTION movie, people) so then I use italics and underline. If there are any suggestions out there, please send them my way so I can make things more clear as to what is what. :)
> 
> Please feel free to comment or give suggestions/feedback.

Sherlock stood silently. His stance was stooped of that of an older man. Well, he was an older man, at least he was now. His eyes were closed in silent contemplation, his jaw set rigidly, his teeth grinding slightly. He wanted it to not be true. It couldn’t be true. He wasn’t here; he wasn’t an old man…well, 61 wasn’t old…but it wasn’t 51, or 41, or 32….the same age he had been when he met her…Molly…his Molly. Even before their liaison together had commenced he thought of her that way…as his...he didn’t like it when others had her attention. In the early years it had been mostly her professional attention he craved, which he manipulated her affections towards him to ensure that her professional attention was always at his disposal.  Admittedly he had done some things that he convinced himself were to ensure Molly was not distracted from her work, and thereby distracted from his own obsessive focus on his work, but slowly it started to happen without him even realizing it.

Sherlock shook his head physically to clear his mind of his rambling thoughts. He was unaware that he had been standing for several hours. He noticed that the sun was going down now and his coat and hair damp from apparent moisture in the area. And still he stood…..he blinked several times as he felt a presence next to him. Sherlock peered around him, taking in the flowers and scene around him. _Where was he?_ He thought. _Another wedding?_ Sherlock almost rolled his eyes at the thought that Molly had yet again dragged him to another one of the ridiculous ceremonies. He closed his eyes again as the memories flooded and invaded his tranquil mind palace. Sherlock half smirked with his eyes closed as he thought about the last wedding she had taken him to.

_“Oh come on, Sherlock! It’s just a few hours……besides it’s not every day your eldest son gets hitched.” Molly stated sweetly as she wrapped her arms around Sherlock’s shoulders from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder._

_“I don’t see why Cyril and Amanda have to do any of this.” Sherlock stated for the thousandth time in the last 4 months. He had assisted with the wedding plans, but he had voiced his concerns throughout. Molly always smiled and nodded, half-listening to Sherlock’s super-logical, but totally blatant excuses. However, Molly knew the real reason Sherlock was so concerned. She knew, because only Sherlock had confided to her, late one evening as they lay in each other arms, days before the wedding._

_“I am frightened, Molly.” Sherlock whispered as he absently ran his fingertips up and down Molly bare arm as she lay silently against his chest. She said nothing, as was her way, and waited. After all these years together she knew to do anything at that point could cause Sherlock to clam up. After a few beats, Molly asked._

_“What are you frightened of?” Molly asked simply and softly, resting her chin on her hand that lay on Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock peered down at Molly, the fine lines of age and laughter and years of sweetness were now permanently etched on her face. Her hair was still full and long, but had less auburn and had grown lighter with very fine streaks of gray. Every time she found one in her hairbrush she would remark that it was a gift from Sherlock or one of his children. His own hair had grown tinged with gray as well, which he thought gave him a certain aristocratic flare._

_Sherlock exhaled a heavy sigh, and she knew he was hesitating, so she encouraged him with a light stroke of her fingers through his curls. Molly would always remark with wonder that while Cyril and Camille had straight hair, Cecelia and Cillian had been blessed with his curls. Four children, Sherlock mused in wonder. Cyril had been a complete surprise to everyone, including the parents. And then slowly, they arrived, one by one, like beautiful angels from heaven. And each time Sherlock was more and more amazed at the fact he was a father again. Molly rejoiced each time, but finally after Cillian and Molly was 37, Molly had her tubes tied. When she discussed her decision with Sherlock one evening, his expression had the look of a hurt puppy._

_ “Do you not want my children anymore Molly?” His eyes wide with concern and curiosity as he looked up from his laptop, the muted thumps and sounds of the rough and tumble wrestling of multiple children playing upstairs the only other sound breaking the silence. Molly leaned back against the desk, facing her Sherlock, seeing his concern, stroking his cheek gently in reassurance. _

_ “Sherlock Holmes, I would have a dozen of your children…” _

_ “Well, then that settles it.” Sherlock interrupted and turned back to his laptop and work. Molly scooted in front of the laptop to regain Sherlock’s attention, a tactic that always worked in the past and Sherlock knew better to give Molly his full attention. _

_ “No, that does not ‘settle’ it, Sherlock.” Molly stated directly but softly. _

_ “But you said…” Sherlock started to rationalize and Molly but her hand over Sherlock’s mouth. It was the only way to get him to stop talking. She moved in closer to him, Sherlock’s arms instinctively wrapping around her waist. _

_ “I said I would have a dozen of your children, yes, but I am 37 years old, Sherlock. And we have four lovely, beautiful, intelligent…” Molly’s sentence was cut off due to the low shouts of Camille and Cyril yelling at each other and both parents gazed upward to listen. _

_ “NO IT’S NOT, CAMILLE!” Cyril yelled. Molly and Sherlock could hear Camille’s wicked laugh and hushed, unintelligible words, as well as the pounding of a nine year old’s and a seven year old’s rushed and taunting footsteps.   _

_ “GIVE IT BACK! IT’S MINE!” Cyril yelled again. _

_ “MAKE ME!” Camille yelled back, followed by a loud thump and the jovial play wrestling of children. _

_ “You were saying?” Sherlock mumbled through Molly’s hand that still covered his mouth as he arched an eyebrow at Molly who smirked at him. _

_ “Sherlock, do you want to have more children?” Molly paused removing her hand from his mouth, making Sherlock think for a moment about what the conversation was really about. _

_ “Well, I guess I would have to tell you I never expected to have any children, as you are well aware. So the choice has always been completely up to you.” Sherlock stated matter of factly, but then realizing what he had just said would mean. _

_ “But Molly, what if…I mean…if something happens…to one of them?” Sherlock asked nervously. “I know the chances are always there, especially as they grow older and more mature, but...” Sherlock went silent and pensive. Molly smiled and kissed the top of her lover’s head, wrapping her arm around him, running her fingers through his dark curls, her head leaning against him in comfort. Molly heard Sherlock softly sigh and felt his arms come up around her, holding Molly to him. _

_ “Nothing is going to happen to them, Sherlock. But I do think four is enough, don’t you agree?” Molly whispered. Sherlock leaned back in his chair, gazing up at Molly in wonder. Molly’s hair was falling forward creating a semi-curtain of auburn and soft brown around her sweet face.  _

_ “Yes, I suppose given the elevated level of noise and chaos being generated upstairs even now, a fifth child would seem a bit extreme.” Sherlock smiled and tucked a bit of Molly’s hair behind her ear lovingly. “Although I do hope that our attempts at creation will not be stymied by the fact that it will not result in a child.” _

_ Molly laughed and kissed Sherlock, “Oh, Sherlock…sometimes you are incredibly stupid.” Sherlock gave a glib sound of derision as Molly moved away, walking towards the stairs leading to where all the commotion was coming from. _

_Molly waited for Sherlock to explain what he was frightened of. He seemed truly at a loss of words to express what he was feeling._

_“What are you afraid of?” Molly repeated._

_“I…am afraid….that I never….did the right thing by you, Molly. That….that now that Cyril is getting married, people…..people might ask why I never married his mother.” Sherlock said the last part of his confession in a rushed, frantic pace, his voice a plethora of emotions all balled up into one. Molly gazed at her lover of all these years, noticing the sheen of unshed tears appear in Sherlock’s eyes through the moonlight shining through their bedroom._

_Molly could say nothing, she didn’t know what to say. As the years rolled by there were moments when she would wonder why Sherlock had never proposed to her, never asked her officially to be his wife. But that was not Sherlock’s way. He was an unconventional lover, friend, brother, and father. But he was perfect just the way he was. Molly would not want him to do anything that might go against those things that made him special to her and to their unconventional family._

_“What people would ask such a thing? And if they did, you wouldn’t care what they thought. You would just blister them with their own hypocrisies.” Molly reminded Sherlock, who smiled and chuckled at the idea of one of his many derisive deductions in the past at parent-teacher conferences or school board meetings when someone had dared make a comment about their little eccentric family._

_“I love you, Sherlock Holmes. And all that you have given me over their years, ring or no ring. Children were my greatest desire, but my greatest gift was when you came into my life and gave them to me.” Molly paused and saw Sherlock’s head tilt slightly to regard Molly. The curtains by the windows fluttered softly and the bright moonlight poured in allowing Molly to see the serene and enigmatic visage of the man who had given her everything._

_“I love you, Molly Hooper.” These words were used by many people, for many reasons, but when Sherlock Holmes spoke them, even in the barest of a whisper, they were powerful and full of true emotion. He had only said them five other times to her, and this would be the sixth. Molly pressed a softly kiss to Sherlock’s chest, luxuriating in the feel of Sherlock’s hands stroking through Molly’s hair and hold her close to his heart. There was no need for words, not now, not this time._

Sherlock came out of his mind palace, Sherlock was confused. Sherlock looked up and around finally to gain better clarity to the situation. _Where was he? Why was he here?_ He looked around and saw them. His four children, all by Cillian, fully grown and standing far off in the distance. Sherlock saw John, standing silently behind him, waiting patiently as always. _What is going on? What is happening?_ Sherlock’s mind screamed, his eyes blinking rapidly trying to clear his thoughts and focus. _Why can’t he focus?_ _Why does Cillian look so upset? Where was Molly?_ Sherlock scanned the area and found no sign of his Molly. He then looked to his feet and saw the open hole just at the toes of his signature black leather shoes, the dark wooden coffin with brushed nickel accents on it lying serenely at the bottom of the hole. Bunches of white roses were laying atop the coffin. _A funeral?_ He thought. His parents, Mrs. Hudson had died years ago. All the children were accounted for. John was there. Sherlock looked to the open hole at his feet again, and the memories came crushing back to him. The shock of it all making his knees buckle, a knot in his chest tearing through his whole body, his voice was not his own, he yelled out his denial like a beast in the throes of a terrible agony. Sherlock felt people rushing to his sides, first John, then his son Cyril, and daughters Cecelia and Camille. He could hear their concerned voices, but he could only see and hear her voice, Molly’s voice as she slipped from this world, the memories of her final moments roaring their way back into Sherlock’s conscious mind.

Sherlock reached out blindly towards the coffin below him, his children and John barely able to hold him back from jumping into the hole.

“NNNOOOO!!! Not her! Oh God, why!! WHY!!!! She was mine!!! Not yours!! MINE!” Sherlock roared to the sky in fury and anguish. For the first time in their lives, Cyril, Camille, Cecelia and Cillian witnessed their father cry.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hospital and tearful goodbye.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I crushed some of you with the first chapter...but I promise, promise, PROMISE this will get better. But here is another real tear-jerker that frankly I would love to Benedict Cumberbatch and Loo Beasley do together. Please read and review......

Memories crept into Sherlock’s conscious mind as he sat by the bed, holding Molly’s frail hand, wishing for a miracle. Or just wishing Molly would open her eyes. Molly and Cillian had been involved in terrible car accident, with Cillian suffering only minor injuries, a broken arm and a concussion, and Molly having massive internal injuries from the impact. It had been a few days since the accident and the doctors were not hopeful since Molly continued to develop more internal bleeding as time went on. Time after time she would go into surgery to stem the bleeding, only to have another develop elsewhere. The doctors made it clear that Molly could die during her next surgery due to the stress of anesthesia on her body.

“So it is death regardless, it what you are saying, doctor.” Sherlock remarked with an arrogant smirk, running his hands through his hair in frustration. John, his loyal friend, was there with him. Mycroft was off down the hall on his mobile.

“Easy mate.” John remarked softly, dropping a hand to Sherlock’s stooped shoulder, looking askance to the miserably unprepared surgeon standing before a distraught Sherlock Holmes.

“I can’t take it easy, John! She’s in there....Molly…my Molly. She’s…” Sherlock started to breakdown, his eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot from the reality he was facing. Sherlock collapsed into the hard plastic chair nearest to him, his sobs and tears quiet as John stood next to his friend. Sherlock had been there for him when Mary had died, he would be there for Sherlock.

“Doctor, what can be done? Anything at all?” John asked softly.

“We can only make her comfortable at this point. We’ve done everything we can do.” Doctor spoke in hushed tones as he watched Sherlock’s shoulder’s shake and quiver. The depth of his sorrow even bringing Mycroft over in concern.

“You’ve had her in a medically induced coma the whole time. If this is going to be it, I am sure she would want to be able to….say goodbye.” John’s voice caught a bit in emotion.

“Bringing her out of the coma could be very painful for her, Dr. Watson. You know this.”

“I know. But trust me. I know Molly Hooper….she’s been with that,” John pointed to Sherlock’s hunched form behind him, “for more than 20 years. I think she can handle the pain. She would WANT the pain, just as long as she can say her goodbyes.”

“There’s no guarantee that she’ll be conscious before she….”

“I know. But, please….for him.”

The hospital stopped Molly’s medically induced coma immediately. Sherlock waited by her bedside, waited for her to open her eyes. The children, Cyril, Camille, Cecelia, and Cillian all came to her bed as well, but Sherlock was a constant fixture. The children took turns staying with their mother in the hospital. But mostly they were there for their father. And so Sherlock waited, and he waited.

“What if she dies before she can wake up?” Sherlock despaired, holding Molly’s hand in both of his own. Cyril sitting nearby, watching.

“Mother wouldn’t do that. She will come back to you…to us.” Cyril remarked, his deep baritone voice so like his father’s.

Much later, Sherlock softly stroked Molly’s hair from her face, as he whispered to her. Cyril and Cecelia were curled up together on the sofa in the private room of the hospital.

“Look at them, Molly.” Glancing over at Cyril and Cecelia on the sofa. “I never thanked you for them. Not properly.” Sherlock’s voice broken sorrow. “Oh Molly, don’t go. You have to stay with me. Cillian, oh god, Cillian is so like me it frightens me sometimes. He’s…he’s…so smart, Molly…so smart.” Sherlock sobbed softly into Molly’s shoulder, making promises to every god, angel, demon if only one of them would bring her back to him.

“Just for a little while….” Sherlock whispered desperately. It was so late, no one was about. It was then he felt the hand he held grip his hand a little tighter, but weakly. Sherlock cautiously looked to Molly’s face and saw the eyelashes flutter and then open weakly. Slowly and wonderously he watched Molly’s tongue brush along her dry lips. Sherlock brought a plastic cup and straw to Molly’s lips, a wide smile splitting his face in an extraordinarily happy grin. The first happy grin he had displayed in days.

Molly’s lips curled around the straw and sucked slowly, but it was enough. Molly’s normally warm brown eyes were glassy and lacked their normal sparkle. But Sherlock didn’t care, she was there in that moment.

“Molly….” Sherlock spoke wonderously. How he wanted to hold her, but her injuries were such that it was impossible without causing her pain.

“Sherlock…” Molly whispered his name as she stroked his rough, unshaven cheek with her weak fingers. “I heard your voice. I heard all of your voices.”

“Yes, everyone been here. And Cillian is safe, he’s fine in fact.” Sherlock spoke in hushed tones to Molly as he stroked her hair softly. “Cyril and Cecelia are here. Let me wake them.” Sherlock made to move away to wake his children sleeping nearby, but Molly stopped him.

“No. Don’t wake them.” Molly whispered. Sherlock returned to his seat, retaking his lover’s hand in his, kissing the back of it, and waited. “I always loved to watch the children sleep. So beautiful.” Molly gazed at her two sleeping grown children at the foot of her hospital bed, before looking back at her love.

“I’m dying, Sherlock.” Molly stated solelmnly. She gulped noisily as if fighting back some unseen force or pain.

“Oh god, Molly. I….I…don’t know…..I don’t know…what to say…I don’t know what to do.” Sherlock cried quietly into Molly’s hand he held. “It should have been me….how I wish I could take your….” Molly ‘shhhhh’ Sherlock softly.

“There’s nothing you can do, Sherlock.” Molly’s voice shook softly. “But know this…every day I was with you was a gift. Every word you spoke to me I cherished. Every soft touch or silent glance I prized. You are my soulmate, Sherlock. I will be waiting for you in eternity.” A soft tear escaped Molly’s eye, and trailed down her cheek to the pillow. She smiled sweetly and happily at Sherlock who was unable to make his voice work.

“Now….kiss me and tell me…for 11th and final time…that you love me.” Molly stated softly.

“I love you, Molly Hooper.” Sherlock’s voice quivered as he whispered the words against Molly’s lips. Molly closed her eyes as Sherlock pressed his lips to hers.

“I’ll be waiting……”Molly whispered as Sherlock moved back, her eyes closed, a soft smile on her face as she passed from this world. Sherlock felt her hand go slack, the monitors around him silently telling him she was gone. Slowly, he gathered Molly’s limp body into his arms and cradled her gently, sobbing. It was his sobs that woke Cyril and Cecelia.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 oOo

Sherlock sat in 221b Baker Street, his fingers absently stroking the strings of his violin. It had been over a month since Molly had passed away, but he found himself thinking one day she would come walking through the door, lugging the shopping up the stairs. Sherlock had started to review in his mind palace everything that was Molly Hooper. At first he wondered how he had allowed to get him to this place. Review of those facts were supremely in order…..

It happened slowly, secretly. Sherlock had not planned on it happening, it just…did. He suddenly realized his caring…his growing sentiment…for the lovely and intelligent Doctor Molly Hooper. Over the years he had used her for his own purposes. He had taken advantage of her affection for him. He was never ashamed of that until the day he was ashamed of it. He could pinpoint the moment the moment when it happened.

Sherlock had made his way to see his friend John upon his arrival back in London. That had not gone over well. But, Mary, John’s new love was intriguing, she appeared to even like him, which shocked Sherlock more than anything. After nursing the bloody nose happily bestowed by his friend, John Watson, Sherlock made his way to St. Barts Hospital.

While he was being attended to by the barber in Mycroft’s office he had reviewed the thin folder containing information regarding a one Margaret “Molly” Hooper. Sherlock only absently viewed the morgue schedule for the week, noting Molly was on duty later in the evening. He decided that would be the best time for him to visit Dr. Hooper.

As he walked to St. Barts he thought about the enigmatic Dr. Hooper. He had only thought of her a few times in the last three years, mostly triggered by the scents of jasmine and lavender which Molly was want to indulge in a part of her bathing routines. Molly was a loyal and reliable colleague. But since The Fall, she was something more….Sherlock could not quite place it. He knew of her growing crush on him, and after everything she had done for him, he knew her feelings were more than just a passing crush.  

_So as he had departed London, it was Molly who was the last person of his rapidly growing, odd little collection of friends that saw him off. She had helped in so many ways with his deception, this was the final piece. Sherlock was wearing a disguise, his dark hair now auburn/ginger color, cut short with a newsboy cap and black wide-rimmed glasses. His clothing was casual and lazy, jeans and tee with trainers. He looked nothing like the sophisticated and arrogant Sherlock Holmes everyone knew. Molly stood next to him in airport, looking nervously around._

_“Oh do stop that, Molly. No one is going to recognize me. Not now, not like this.” Sherlock stated softly but in his direct manner, wagging with distaste the causal tee he was wearing. Still Molly tried to be nonchalant, but the longer they lingered the more concerned she became._

_“But someone could be watching me.” Molly countered quietly. Sherlock laughed softly._

_“Not likely. And if they are, they will just think I am another one of your woefully inadequate boyfriends.” Sherlock stated with a bit more anger than he had planned. Sherlock paused, realizing in reality someone may very well be following Molly._

_“Perhaps we should do something? Something, that if someone is watching you, would never imagine Sherlock Holmes doing.” Sherlock stated as Molly looked up at him curiously._

_“Like wha…” Molly started to ask, but was cut off by Sherlock dropping his bag to the floor, cradling Molly’s head in his hands, tilting her head back gently and snogging her intensely. Right there, in front of everyone. Sherlock’s eyes remained open for a moment to glance around, but then they softly closed in revelation of the passionate sensations rippling through Molly to his body. Her hands came up and gently touched Sherlock’s hair just above the ear. Molly’s tongue touched tentatively against Sherlock’s lower lip, seeking to deepen the kiss. Dare he? Is all the Sherlock thought. The kiss was meant to throw off anyone who might be following them, but now it was taking a wholly different turn. Sherlock softly opened his mouth more fully and responded to Molly tentative entreaty with a more intense one. The kiss continued, much longer and with more passion than even Sherlock Holmes was prepared for. But gently Sherlock pulled away, his lips just barely touching Molly’s. Their breaths coming in short, quick pants from the lack of oxygen and their seemingly rapid heart rates. Sherlock gazed into Molly’s dilated eyes, so caring, so sweet, so trusting, so believing in him. Little did he realize his pupils were just as dilated, but he would never admit it._

_“Take care. Molly. Hooper.” Sherlock whispered against Molly’s lips, still gazing into her warm brown eyes. Sherlock released his hold of Molly’s head, turned, picking up his bag in the same motion, and began to walk down the airport terminal that would take him far from London and her. He never looked back. He did not see the look of pure joy on Molly’s face, but nor could she see his look of pure delight on Sherlock Holmes’ face either._

As he walked into St. Barts Hospital, his mind had drifted to that last memory, that kiss. He somehow wished she would also remember that moment. Given his recent experience with John Watson, he was not quite sure what to expect. But then he reminded himself that this was Molly…his Molly. She would be happy to see him, ecstatic even. He could always rely on Molly Hooper to service his egotistical soul.

She had not been wearing her engagement ring that first moment, that night when the man of her dreams came roaring back into her life. When Sherlock texted her that he wanted to see her, Molly secretly rejoiced that perhaps this was the moment Sherlock would admit it. Molly would often confide to Sherlock years later that when she got his text she was prepared to call off her engagement right then, and how horrible she felt about thinking it. But Sherlock never revealed the crushing depth of sorrow he felt when he saw the ring for the first time. And just like John’s mustache, Sherlock’s mind roared “Well, that has just got to go.” But as soon as he met Tom, he knew the wedding wouldn’t happen. He deduced that man within seconds and knew he was lacking…a poor substitute for his Molly. And she was his….she always was…and she always would be.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I told you.  
> You would burn.  
> I would burn the heart right out of you.  
> And you lead me straight to her.
> 
> Sherlock realizes when he started to care about Molly, end of season 3 - HLV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone who reviewed so far. Glad you are feeling the emotions...which is kinda the point. But things are going to get very fluffy and a bit more mature....so be warned. This chapter is more about when Sherlock realized he really cared for Molly....not quite love yet....but his heart grows a few times bigger here....Mr. Grinch.

Sherlock wandered through his mind palace. He had reviewed the moment when he realized he was ashamed to have manipulated Molly. When did he start to care for her? Hmmmm, Sherlock thought, his violin forgotten, and his hands steepled under his chin as his mind spun forward in his memories……

“Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me?.....” The phrase was repeated on a loop with Moriarty’s smug face gazing with seemingly internal fire at the world at large. Sherlock exited the private jet briskly, Mycroft waiting in the nearby Jaguar with his mobile pressed to his ear. John and Mary stood there gaping as Sherlock walked smartly past them both.

“Sherlock? Care to give us a hint at what the hell is going on?” John asked in his usual clipped manner.

“The game, John! The game is on!” Sherlock called back excitedly over his shoulder as he opened the door where Mycroft was. Mycroft was forced to scoot over as Sherlock entered the car. Mary giggled as she listened to Mycroft complain about having to move over.

“To Baker Street, John! Now!” Sherlock announced with a quick glance over his shoulder. John and Mary moved to their practical Audi hatchback, as the Jaguar sped off.

“What’s going on, John?” Mary asked as they started to drive off the tarmac, following the speeding Jaguar as best they could without breaking every law in London. John had no idea until they reached Baker Street.

Mycroft was giving orders and asking questions about the video feed coming from Moriarty. He looked over at this brother knowingly. Mycroft pushed the mute button on his mobile.

“MI6 confirmed the transmission’s point of origin.”

“Where?” Sherlock asked pointedly, the blood rushing through his veins, the excitement and terror of his greatest rival returning.

“St. Barts Hospital.” Mycroft stated solemnly. Sherlock’s face did not register a reaction, but his brain began filtering all the possibilities. It didn’t take an intellectual genius to deduce why Moriarty would pick that place for his resurrection.

Sherlock frantically typed out a text on his phone as the Jaguar speed through traffic.

_Leave Now. Come to Baker St – SH_

Sherlock pressed the send button and waited. After a few moments, Sherlock’s phone pinged with a new text.

_Whats going on? Have you seen the telly? – MH_

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he texted Molly back.

_Leave Molly. Come to Baker St. Not safe – SH_

“You know he will go after her, Mycroft. Send someone to pick her up, now.” Sherlock spoke in a clipped fashion as he gazed out the darkened windows of the Jaguar as it left the private jetport. Mycroft rolled his eyes.

“I have someone enroute, brother dear. But may I remind you that it was you who decided to bring Dr. Hooper into this little game when you requested her help with your fake death plunge. We did not need her...we could..” Mycroft spoke quietly, needling his brother, but was cut off my Sherlock’s shout.

“I needed her!”

“Indeed.” Mycroft replied with a smirk on his smug face. Sherlock wanted to punch him, strangle him….a ping from his phone distracted Sherlock from his murderous thoughts.

_Leaving now – MH_

Sherlock would never admit it, but he was relieved. He frantically texted Molly back.

_Tell driver to take you straight to Baker St – SH_

_Driver? Taking the tube – MH_

Sherlock looked at Mycroft furiously. The person Mycroft said he sent had not arrived.

“Your henchman have not arrived to retrieve Molly. Time is of the essence, Mycroft.” Sherlock spoke directly.

“Traffic, Sherlock.” Mycroft stated bluntly, gesturing to the fact their own vehicle had come to an almost standstill in mid-morning London traffic. Sherlock sent another text

_No. No tube. Wait there. – SH_

_But you said it wasn’t safe here. – MH_

_Stay where you are. – SH_

_What’s happening? – MH_

_Stay there. I’m coming to get you. – SH_

Sherlock opened the car door and ran swiftly through the line of traffic, Mycroft shouting after him. Sherlock had calculated all the possible routes in which he could reach St. Barts from his current location. At his current pace and taking the Central line to the Circle line on the tube, he could get there in roughly 6 minutes 32 sec. Just then a ping sounded from his phone, he picked it up in frustration that Molly was not listening to him. He paused running, staring at his phone as each text was delivered, his heart twisting just a bit each time.

_I told you._

_You would burn._

_I would burn the heart right out of you._

_And you lead me straight to her._

_Its just too easy. LMAO_

Sherlock’s blood turned cold. He started to run.

John and Mary were a few cars behind them and saw Sherlock jump out, look at his phone and run by. John jumped out of the car, calling after Sherlock.

“Sherlock!”

“He’s going after Molly, John! He’s there…I have to get to her.” Sherlock shouted as he ran.

“Mary, take the car and follow Mycroft.” John kissed his wife intensely, opening the center counsel of the Audi to grab is sidearm pistol. Mary jumped in the driver seat more adeptly than an 8-month pregnant woman should be able to. John ran after Sherlock, stuffing the sidearm into the back of his pants.

Sherlock reached the tube platform for the Central line in no time flat. He pulled out his phone and texted frantically. The carriages arrived, he and John jumped on to the Baker Street stop. They would be there in 1 minute, transfer to the Circle line and be to the Barbican stop in less than 2 minutes

_Leave Barts. I’ll be on the train at Barbican stop in 2 minutes 53 seconds. – SH_

_I don’t know if I can make it there that quickly – MH_

_Run – SH_

_I’m coming Sherlock – MH_

They made it to the Circle line platform in less than a minute. But the Circle line train was slower than Sherlock had expected. He paced along the platform, his fingers twitching. He pulled out his phone again.

_Are you there? – SH_

Sherlock waited for Molly’s response. Too slow, too slow, TOO SLOW!! Sherlock’s mind raced

_Are you at the platform? – SH_

_Molly? – SH_

The Circle line train arrived. John pushed Sherlock in, who was waiting anxiously for Molly’s text. The train pulled away and still no response from Molly. Each stop between Baker Street and Barbican was an eternity. Sherlock kept his hand in his coat pocket waiting for the tell-tale vibration and ping of an incoming text.

“She’ll be there, mate.” John stated quietly, watching Sherlock’s frenetic movements.

The train approached the Barbican platform, Sherlock bent to scan the groups of people waiting for the train, searching for Molly’s face. He didn’t see her. He slammed his hand against the train wall in frustration, causing many around him to flinch in surprise and fear. The doors opened and both Sherlock and John launched themselves onto the platform. Sherlock looked around wildly and moving towards the exit/entrance of the platform.

Just as the train started to move away, Sherlock saw her. She was running down the stairs, pushing past people rudely, well as rudely as Molly Hooper could summon. She was sweaty and red-faced from running from Bart’s to the tube station to catch the train Sherlock had told her to be on. She looked a bit desperate as her eyes darted to the exiting train, the one she should have been on, the fear palpable on her face.

Sherlock rushed forward to Molly, John a pace behind him. And at once their eyes locked for a moment, and it seemed the whole world stopped for a moment. Sherlock watched as the bright smile emerged on her exhausted face. She rushed to Sherlock, throwing her arms around him in relief. She did not expect him to react at all, just rush them off to Baker Street, but he wrapped his arms around her. Her face was buried in his dark coat, and she could have sworn she felt him squeeze her ever so slightly to him. John just stood there and watched for trouble, glancing this way and that.

“Come along. To Baker Street.” Sherlock whispered to Molly. As they entered the train, Sherlock guided Molly to a nearby seat, taking the one next to her. John sat across from them, not saying anything, but noticing everything that was going on between the consulting detective and the young pathologist. Sherlock sat quietly and silently with Molly Hooper’s hand gripped in his as the train moved toward Baker Street. John smirked knowingly


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happier times ahead! Get on the good ship Sherlolly.....All Aboard!

 

Sherlock hadn’t eaten for days…he wasn’t on a case…well was kind of. The Case of the Enigmatic Doctor Molly Hooper. She was gone from his life, leaving behind a trail of memories that stirred Sherlock’s soul. God, how he wished he could not feel the pain of it all. He remained at Baker Street, his home away from home. Cyril, his eldest son, had taken on the role of instant parent and took Cillian to stay with him. His wife, Amanda, and he were not trying for child since Cyril was in the final years of his graduate studies in molecular engineering, so the new addition to their household had to be challenging, Sherlock thought as he shuffled around the messy kitchen.

Everywhere he looked he saw her. Remembered her. He was an old man now, but he still had his gifts. His mind palace threatened to burst at the seams from all the overflowing memories of Molly, their life together. In the first days after the funeral, Sherlock had tried to delete the memories, but he found it impossible.

He thought about the times she had put herself in danger because of him. Her unconditional love. He opened the cupboard, looking for a mug for his tea. He paused, noticing something there, in his favorite mug…..a slip of paper. _Oh, god_ ….Sherlock thought closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He knew what it was. It was Molly’s way….she left little notes in places where she knew he would go to. Silly little things, nonsensical really. Things that in previous years would just distract him from his work. Or remind him how he was an incredibly lucky bastard to have her in his life. The children had found most of the remaining notes around the home a short distance from Baker Street after the funeral. Each had been as amused and happy as they found them. But Sherlock did not want to see them. His mind drifted as he thought about Molly all those years ago.

_“I don’t care what you say Sherlock! You can’t keep me under constant surveillance forever!” Molly shouted as she donned her winter coat. Mary just looked on, with 3 month-old Emma in her arms, but enjoying the little tete-a-tete she was witnessing between Molly and one consulting detective._

_“Molly, it’s not safe. Moriarty knows about….”_

_“Moriarty! Moriarty! Moriarty! That’s all you talk about! I have a life Sherlock…” Sherlock looked on incredulously. “Besides, nothing…and I mean nothing…has happened in the last three months.”_

_There seemed to be something underlying in Molly’s last statement, something beyond Moriarty and the game. Sherlock looked puzzled and confused, sensing Molly’s comment meant more than just her frustration in Sherlock not being able to catch the bastard._

_“Well, I think we should let you to sort out…whatever…it…is…that needs to be sorted.” John announced as he guided Mary and Emma out of the room._

_“There’s nothing going on…” Sherlock announced, shouting at their retreating backs. Mary peeked around the corner suddenly, with Emma._

_“Very prickly, Sherlock.”_

_“You can’t leave.” Sherlock stated directly. Mary looked at him queerly._

_“You haven’t let me say my goodbye to my goddaughter.” Sherlock stated haughtily._

_“Aww, Sherlock. Who would have thought you’d have a soft spot for babies.” Mary cooed sweetly as she placed little Emma in Sherlock’s arms. He had become quite good at holding her, “all a matter of leverage” Sherlock announced when he clumsily held Emma just hours after her arrival._

_“I don’t have a soft spot for babies, Mary...” Sherlock stated fiercely through his teeth in response to her needling him. “…just one.” Sherlock gaze softened a bit as he looked at Emma. He didn’t say anything, just kissed her forehead softly and handed her back to Mary._

_Molly’s heart twisted with such strange emotion watching Sherlock hold and cuddle little Emma Watson. Oh, how she wished….Molly shook her head to clear her muddled thoughts. Molly said goodbye to Mary and John as they left, standing firm by the door, waiting to finish her conversation with Sherlock. Sherlock continued to type on the laptop at a hectic pace, not acknowledging her. Molly shuffled her feet a bit and sighed in frustration. That caught Sherlock’s attention._

_“Oh Molly. You still here. I thought you had stormed out to go have your life, or something like that.” Sherlock waved his hand dismissively as he returned his attention to his laptop._

_“Damn you! God damn you!” Molly yelled at Sherlock, who turned toward her in genuine surprise at her vehement outburst. Molly didn’t know if she wanted to run to or from him._

_“Molly?” Sherlock queried, his brow furrowed in confusion. He rose in candid concern for the tears threatening to spill from her watery eyes._

_“No! Don’t!” Molly yelled back at Sherlock, who halted in his progress toward her. Molly laughed half-heartedly, wiping the tears from her eyes with her pink yarn gloves._

_“I thought…..I thought after…everything.” Molly paused, looking down at her hands, picking at the pink yarn of her gloves. “I don’t know what I thought. Maybe….maybe it was only my imagination.”_

_“I don’t understand. What was your imagination?” Sherlock asked as he stood stoically before Molly._

_“Some irrational sentimental thing that you would probably scoff and cast a blight upon, really.” Molly laughed beaming a sad little smile at him._

_“Ohhhh, I don’t know. I find myself coming to understand more about why humans seem to crave the emotional trap of sentiment. Little Emma has shed quite a bit of interest on the matter.” Sherlock smiled coyly as Molly sniffled once. Sherlock moved slowly forward, removing the expensive handkerchief he kept in his pocket. A gentleman always carries one, his mother had taught him long ago. Every Christmas his mother would give him a new one. By now he had a whole array of colors, but he was partial to pure white._

_Sherlock moved forward extending the handkerchief to Molly, who stared at it as if it were poison.  His arm extended, he gentle pressed it to her hand, curling his fingers around Molly’s trembling ones. Molly stopped breathing and waited, unsure what to do next. Three months ago he had rushed to her side like a dashing dragon-slaying prince. Molly thought she felt something in that moment and as they rode the train a short distance to Baker Street. He had not held her hand since that day. They had barely been alone, which was frustrating since she wanted to know…what did she mean to her._

_Sherlock had made it clear what Moriarty thought Molly was to him. But he had never spoken about what he really thought about Molly. Theirs had been such a long, slow walk to this moment. Molly was not going to let it pass. She needed to know, from his lips to her ears._

_“Sherlock, that day…when Moriarty returned and you met me at the tube station…you were so frantic to get to me. Why?” Molly gazed with such openness and hope, Sherlock was almost scared to answer, he blink twice as if his CPU misfiring. But then he squeeze his fingers gently around Molly’s, stepping closer to her._

_“You are…..my….friend. I could not bear the thought that because of me Moriarty would use you. I did not want to see you harmed because you helped me.” Sherlock spoke softly quietly. Years later Molly would tell Sherlock she had been sad, but still happy, to hear him call her his friend. But Sherlock was not finished. He took yet another step towards Molly, bringing their interwoven hands up against his chest. Sherlock removed the white handkerchief with his left hand, and gently wiped Molly’s tears. Molly closed her eyes at the sweetness and gentleness of his touch. She never saw him place the handkerchief back in his pocket, patting it softly in reverence. Her tears meant something to him._

_“In the recent years, Molly Hooper, you have been my colleague and my friend. But you are also something more, something I did not want to acknowledge. You represented my humanity. The humanity that I shunned and tucked away.” Sherlock paused as he gazed into Molly’s trusting eyes. “So I tucked you away too. Fearing others would see what you meant to me. But when Moriarty discovered I had more than one weakness. He exploited them all, Molly. I was terrified that day that he had already gotten to you. My Molly.”_

_Molly smiled joyously at his last words, biting her bottom lip to keep herself from yelling out in bliss. Sherlock absently tucked Molly’s hair around her ear, still holding their clasped hands to him chest, and continued._

_“So you see, I have been trying to return the genie to its bottle without much success. I cannot keep you tucked away in the secret recesses of my mind. Your involvement with me and your meaning, your value….” Sherlock swallowed nervously, “…my emotions towards you can no longer be hidden safely. Forgive me, Molly. I never meant to place you in danger…but I find….” Sherlock could not continue, since Molly had reached up with her free hand pulled Sherlock into a blistering, soul-searing kiss._

_Sherlock’s muffled groan and Molly’s wistful sigh was all either of them needed to know the truth. Sherlock let go of Molly’s hand, which joined his partner around his head and neck, and instead pulled Molly up against the length of his body. Their mouths mated in a frenzied dance, like a person long without water drinking greedily from an oasis in the desert. They had denied themselves this pleasure for too long._

_Sherlock walked Molly backwards until she was pressed against the front door that was always flung wide open during the day. His hands threaded through the long, silky strands of her hair. Her heavy winter coat was very much an impediment to their closeness and Molly quickly shrugged it off, their lips never leaving each other’s. Free of her coat, Molly’s hands roamed up Sherlock’s taut back, her fingertips feeling the slender, but strong muscles across Sherlock’s back. Sherlock could feel the promised softness of Molly’s tender body through the sweater she wore, his lips moved tenderly but skillfully from Molly’s kiss-reddened lips to her jawline to her ear and nape of her neck. Sherlock pulled Molly away from the hard door, and held her all along his hard body, his other arm and palm braced against the same door Molly had just been leaning against. They seemed to devour each other for longer than either of them had thought possible. Suddenly, there was a discreet cough somewhere in the background._

_Sherlock was first to react, although he turned his head, his eyes a menacing, piercing stare at the person who would dare interrupt his interlude with his Molly._

_Sherlock wanted to crawl under a rock at that very moment as he stared at the beaming happy smiles of both of his parents. Sherlock looked back at Molly, who was aware of who the ridiculous happy people were, with her much abused and reddened lips. Sherlock slowly started to softly pound his head against the hard door as his mother finally spoke._

_“Ohhhh, Sherlock!” She squealed in delight. Sherlock knew immediately what his mother was thinking: grandchildren._

_“Hello, Mother. Couldn’t you have rang first before you came by? Some kind of first salvo before the attack.” Sherlock asked, still holding Molly, seeing her wide eyes, side long glances and giggles as he placed a few soft kisses as he spoke._

_“Don’t get cheeky with me, William Sherlock Holmes! We had no idea you would be so engaged. Now, as lovely as she is, would you mind if you could cease snogging for just a bit to have a visit with your parents?”_

_“Hmmmmm….” is all that Sherlock could muster as he pulled Molly one last time for a scorching kiss. Molly slowly realized the implications of who was present through her lust-filled mind._

_“Oh my God!” Sherlock’s mother exclaimed in frustration as Sherlock kissed Molly again, glancing back at her husband, who was grinning and chuckling like a cat who had discovered how to work a can opener._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tale of a button

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major sexy times in this chapter...you have been warned.

Sherlock sat in his favorite chair within 221b Baker Street, smoking a fine, fine cigarette. He only smoked them occasionally now. At his age it really was not good for his health. But he did not care. He was slumped in his chair, his head lying across the back cushion, watching the smoke swirl and change as it rose from his mouth. The memories of another such time when he gazed at the smoke…..just like this  filled his mind as his eyes drifted shut….savoring the memories of a time long ago.

_Sherlock was enjoying being in a relationship with Molly. Actually enjoying it. It was going considerably slower than most normal relationships, so John had lead him to believe, but Sherlock saw no need to rush anything. Molly, too, seemed inclined to allow things to progress…naturally._

_However, there was nothing natural or normal about Sherlock Holmes. Molly understood him well already, and she seemed inclined to allow Sherlock time to get comfortable about being in a relationship. A relationship with Sherlock Holmes was kind of like being imbedded with a military combat unit. You always had to be ready for the unexpected. Of course Sherlock never did anything remotely in alignment with social convention, but he tried to play the role of attentive boyfriend; a term he hated Molly would soon find out._

_So it was. Molly Hooper and Sherlock Holmes. Friends. Couple. Lovers. Well, not quite yet. Oh there had been a fair about of snogging all about Baker Street. All of which made Molly’s body shiver with desire and need each time she thought about it. But Sherlock was hesitant to go beyond passionate kisses and soft embraces. He would touch her, but never more intimately that stroke along her hip or shoulder, a caress along her cheek. It was getting to be too much for Molly. She could only take care of herself for so long before a girl can go a bit crazy. She knew Sherlock was attracted to her, because she could feel his body respond when they were snogging. He never tried to hide it, but he never took things any further than kissing. Molly had to do something._

_It was an indolent Wednesday evening. Discarded take away boxes of dim sum and Chinese food lay discarded and forgotten across the coffee table at Baker Street as the world’s only consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper lazily kissed. The kisses they gave each other were both soft and deep, their tongues meeting and retreating softly. Sherlock cradled Molly’s jawline as he kissed her over and over, Molly angled her head this way and that, luxuriating in Sherlock’s sensual assault on her mouth. Molly’s body thrummed with a passion stimulated by Sherlock’s expert kissing. My god! If he is this good at kissing….Molly thought to herself. Molly, who was sitting on her knees facing a semi-reclining Sherlock, carefully wrapped her hands around Sherlock’s wrists, pulling away from him. Sherlock’s eyes opened slowly, heavy-lidded with obvious desire. Molly smiled sweetly, biting her lower lip as she paused to take a deep breath, massaging the insides of Sherlock’s wrists gently with her thumbs._

_“Sherlock….I want you….I want you to touch me.” Molly whispered softly as she turned her head to kiss the inside of his wrists. Sherlock gazed at her curiously, leaning up slightly but a smiling smirk on his face._

_“Bring your luscious lips back over here and I will be touching you.” Sherlock stated as he moved forward. Molly, believing Sherlock was teasing her, giggled as she climbed atop Sherlock’s lap, straddling his thighs, her arms locked around his neck. The absolute shock and horror crossing Sherlock’s face was all Molly had to see. His eyes seemed as big as saucers, and no sooner had she settled in place, Sherlock was launching himself off the sofa, flinging Molly aside a bit ungracefully._

_Sherlock stood with his back to Molly. He was dressed in his standard black dress pants and white button down tailored shirt, the sleeves rolled up from working at his laptop all day. Molly was dumbfounded at his reaction to her climbing onto his lap._

_“Sherlock, did I do something wrong?” Molly asked tentatively, not moving from her position on the sofa. Sherlock did not respond at first._

_“No, Molly. You did not do anything wrong.” Sherlock spoke without turning, speaking the from over his shoulder. Molly began to worry._

_“What is it? What just happened?”_

_Sherlock stood with his hands on hips, finally turning towards Molly, seeing the glassy sheen shining in her eyes. He sighed, returning to the sofa. As he came back, Molly clasped his hand in reassurance as he sat next to her. Sherlock said nothing, barely looking at her. He seemed embarrassed._

_“Sherlock?” Molly gave the hand she held a slight squeeze to bring him back._

_“I am sorry, Molly.”_

_“What about? Sherlock, talk to me. What is it?”_

_“I can’t Molly. I’ve never….” Sherlock stammered and Molly only smiled, understanding._

_“It’s okay, Sherlock. I know that all this emotional stuff is not your thing. We can go slow. It’s just that you are such a good kisser and frankly I was hoping you might want to do more.”_

_Sherlock’s male ego got an extreme boost at Molly’s comments about his kissing abilities._

_“I actually research a few years ago all the facial muscles needed to create the kissing patterns and sustain them for a considerable amount of time. You would be amazed at the effort the jaw, tongue, lips and face have to put forth for just one simple kiss.” Sherlock chuckled and smiled as he witnessed Molly serene expression. Molly reached over and stroked Sherlock’s jaw, running her fingers down his neck to the opening of his shirt, the first button always straining to retain its hold. Oh how she wanted to set it free._

_The feel of Molly’s fingertips on his neck and shirt opening was too much for Sherlock, but he found he enjoyed it._

_“Touch me, Sherlock.” Molly moved closer, her lips joining her fingertips. Sherlock closed his eyes. He could do this, he could do this, Sherlock thought. Oh god Molly’s mouth felt so good against his neck. Where was her hand going? It was going downward toward his belt below, below his belt…oh, God. He couldn’t do this._

_“Molly…,” Sherlock hoarsely whispered, halting her amorous hand from reaching its intended target. “..don’t....I……I…….can’t do this.” Molly pulled back away from him._

_“Don’t you want me, Sherlock?” Molly asked sweetly and honestly, without any artifice. She was not trying to seduce him in that moment. She truly just wanted to know. It was horrible to gaze into her worried face. Sherlock turned towards Molly, facing her, taking her hands in his_

_“Molly…..I do want you. I just lack the sufficient data as to how to proceed. I mean, after the kissing, that is.”_

_“Are telling me you don’t know what happens during…” Molly asked incredibly._

_“No. No. Nothing like that. I know the basic mechanics of the process of sexual intercourse.” Sherlock stated clinically._

_“How romantic.” Molly stated a bit annoyed by Sherlock’s clinical statement._

_“But you see, that’s it, Molly. I have no idea of romantic love, because frankly I’ve never been in love before. Sex, I understand….Love, romance, emotion….these are still things I don’t fully understand. And I don’t like doing something before I understand it.” Sherlock smiled awkwardly, as Molly eased up a bit from the sofa._

_“Okay. So you have had sex before, but are afraid of love? With me? Like somehow you are going to muck it up or something? Oh, Sherlock if I worried about that everytime….well, you shouldn’t worry about it. Just go with what feels right.” Molly moved closer, encouragingly, running her hand down his arm, threading their hands together._

_“Well, actually I haven’t actually ever had sex before either.” Sherlock stated rather flippantly as Molly continued to try and encourage him. Molly paused, her eyes wide, as she sat back with an amazed look upon her face._

_“Really? Never? Ever?”_

_“Nope.” Sherlock responded making a popping noise with ‘p.’_

_“Not even at Uni?” Molly asked again_

_“No! Not even at Uni, Molly. Alright.” Sherlock lurched from the sofa, and away from Molly, who was contrite when she realized his embarrassment._

_“I’m a 34-year old virgin!” Sherlock shouted loudly, throwing his arms out from his sides like he was on display. Molly rose from her seated position on the sofa, walking to Sherlock, who was absently re-arranging items on his desk to avoid looking at her. She sat upon the desk’s edge, her feet dangling down as she spoke_

_“Well, well, Mr. Holmes, it seems there are some things that you are not an expert in.”_

_“I never claimed to be expert on EVERYTHING, Molly.”_

_“No. But you would have everyone believe that you are an expert.”_

_“Well, that’s their fault for not observing correctly.” Sherlock stated with a flip of his hand._

_“So if I told you that I knew you were inexperienced with women from the first time I met you, would you believe me?” Molly gave Sherlock sidelong glance at Sherlock._

_“Absolutely not.”_

_“So then don’t worry about it. I am sure you can figure it out. You said you know the basic mechanics of the process....” With that Molly slid across the desk, pulling Sherlock between her dangling legs, and toying with that deliciously precarious button at the top of his shirt. “….and for me, Mr. Holmes, at this point that is all you need to know. I am sure you will get the hang of the passion part…if your kissing abilities are any indication.” With her last comment, Molly reached up and bit that top button off Sherlock’s shirt. Sherlock thought Molly was going to kiss him, but he softly gasped at such a seductive move. It was all Sherlock needed._

_Sherlock reached up and gently took the small pearlized button from between Molly’s teeth, a cat-like smile gracing her normally sweet visage. She was enjoying this. Sherlock regarded the button, and glanced down to Molly, who was leaning back, her arms braced behind her, her legs clad in her ankle jeans and no shoes, spread wide and inviting. She was a temptress, she was daring him to jump off the cliff._

_“Molly. Hooper. This… is one… of my favorite shirts. You shall pay dearly for ruining it.” Sherlock stated gravely and seriously._

_“I am counting on it, Sherlock. Holmes.” Molly stated with a knowing smirk on her face. Sherlock arched one dark eyebrow at the intriguing puzzle she presented at the moment.  Sherlock tossed the button over his shoulder. Slowly, he moved closer, leaning over her, his arms bracing themselves next to hers, and still Molly made no move toward him. Sherlock gazed into the dilated pupils of Molly, her lips parted and inviting, her chest rising and falling so her breasts just barely brushed his chest when she took a breath in. A feather like touch of her body was a siren’s call. Sherlock wasn’t afraid, not with Molly. She would show him how to love, how to love her._

_His mind was made up, Sherlock reached behind him and scattered the contents of the desk top to the floor, then pulled Molly up against him, his mouth kissing her passionately. He pulled the apex of her thighs hard up against him, a gasp of shock coming from Molly._

_“Tell me what to do.” Sherlock stated as his lips hovered over Molly’s._

_“You seem to be doing just fine. Perfect.” Molly gasped as she felt Sherlock’s hand caressed her breast through her tee-shirt. How she wished she hadn’t worn a bra this time. Molly reached around and pulled her bra off from under her shirt, throwing it absently. She had done it so fast, Sherlock was almost unaware of what happened, until his hand returned to breast and felt the pebbled nipple there. Sherlock groaned in satisfaction from so simple a contact. Sherlock eased his mouth down Molly’s pale throat. Molly leaned back further, one hand braced behind her, allowing Sherlock full access to her body. Through the thin cotton of the grey t-shirt, Sherlock covered Molly’s breast and nipple with his mouth.  Molly threw her head back, threading her free hand in Sherlock dark curls, pulling him closer, urging on. Soon it wasn’t enough, Sherlock unceremoniously pulled the offending shirt from Molly, throwing it violently away. Sherlock paused for a moment._

_Molly sensing a moment for her to do her own exploring, sat up, and stared to unbutton his shirt. Slowly, she unfastened each button, while Sherlock luxuriated in the feel of Molly’s long hair. Soon the shirt was being pulled from his body, down his arms. He looked much stronger than his lean frame spoke to. A light sprinkling of light brown hair was dusted over his chest. It tickled Molly’s nose and cheek as she ran her mouth over his chest. She did the same to him as she done with to her, but without the impediment of a shirt. The feeling of her mouth on his body was extraordinary. Her lips teased each of his nipples before latching on, sucking, swirling her tongue about it. So that is what she wants me to do, Sherlock thought. Before he could return the favor, Sherlock felt Molly’s hands at his waist, unbuckling the belt there, stripping it off him with precision. Molly looked up at him, both of them naked from the waist up, as Sherlock cradled Molly’s sweet face in his hands, kissing her has he leaned forward, laying her back upon desk, her legs still dangling over the edge._

_Sherlock lavish Molly’s breasts for what seemed like ages, but he loved the mewing sounds and gasps of pleasure he could hear emanating from Molly. Her hands roamed his head, through his hair, and across his upper back. Her still jean-clad legs now were wrapped around his waist and moving in rhythm to his own. He wasn’t even aware he was pressing himself to her, until Molly whispered something about feeling him inside her. Swiftly Molly unbuttoned her jeans and scooted them and her panties off her hips and off her body. Sherlock was unprepared for the naked perfection of Molly Hooper. She was so unashamed at the moment. So giving, so accepting, he almost didn’t believe he deserved it._

_Her legs still dangling, and seeing Sherlock indecision as his hands rested at the waist and zipper of his dress pants, unmoving. When she touched his hand softly he seemed to be suddenly aware of what was about to happen. He was going to lose his virginity, to Molly Hooper, sweet Molly Hooper._

_Soon Sherlock dress pants, underwear, shoes and socks joined the other clothing scattered about. He was naked, Molly was naked. But he was nervous…..Molly scooted forward, gazing up at him._

_“Are you sure you want me?” Molly asked seriously. Sherlock nodded silently yes, his breath coming in shallow breaths. He kissed Molly again, his cock pressed against her core that was so burning for him, Molly thought she would explode._

_The desk was just the right height for Sherlock to enter Molly. She reached down and grasped him at the base of his cock, Sherlock groaned into Molly’s shoulder. Molly scooted down a bit, lifting her legs so her feet were flat on either side of Sherlock’s hips. Molly felt Sherlock’s body shake and quiver. It might be over quickly, but at least….. Molly positioned Sherlock’s cock at her wet entrance. She moved her hips slightly, and soon Sherlock was moving against with her, his hot breaths mixing with hers._

_But it wasn’t over quickly, but it didn’t take long. Molly felt such joy that he had chosen her to be his first. Soon Sherlock settled into a rhythm that made Molly want to moan so loudly. It wasn’t too fast, it wasn’t too slow, it wasn’t too soft, but it wasn’t too hard. It was just right…..she felt like the Sexual Goldilocks….she wanted to laugh with joy but soon her orgasm started to build. Sherlock was not bent over her any more, he was standing tall between her legs, pumping into her, watching her, watching them. Molly watched as he looked down at where he entered her….and listened to his groans in pure male satisfaction. Molly reached down and rubbed the sensitive nub at her clit. She was so close and she could tell Sherlock was too. Soon Sherlock’s thrusts became rougher, more intense…she rubbed herself harder. Molly felt her orgasm roll through her womb and her body. Sherlock suddenly collapsed atop Molly, his body tightening and his hips jerking a bit erratically, his heavy breathing the only other sound coming from him._

_Many hours later, Sherlock and Molly finally had made it to his bed._

_“I am sorry that our first time was on the desk.” Molly stated as she played with the soft hairs Sherlock’s chest._

_“I’m not. I find it rather exhilarating to be able to envision you spread upon my desk, receiving pleasure from yours truly.” Sherlock nuzzled Molly’s hair as he remembered their first time together. “I rather enjoyed our second sexual encounter as well.”_

_Molly smiled to herself as she remembered how she had ridden atop Sherlock’s lap in his favorite chair, gripping the back for leverage as she made Sherlock orgasm again. Even though it was his first time, he wasn’t a young man, but she was amazed by his stamina. She had rather enjoyed watching the waves of ecstasy ripple through Sherlock as she rode his cock, his hands almost bruising in their grip upon her hips and ass, as she pumped her hips lusciously against his upward thrusts. As he came again, he threw back his head against the back of the chair and roared like a man possessed. Molly was certain Mrs. Hudson and the neighbors must have heard it. It was perfect._

_“I noticed a few times Molly you touched yourself as we made love. Am I doing something wrong?” Sherlock asked absently as he stroked her bare back with his long fingertips._

_“No. It’s just, sometimes a woman takes longer to reach her climax. That just sped it along nicely.”_

_“Ahhh, yes. I did read about that situation once.”_

_“What? in a medical journal?”_

_“No. Penthouse Forum.”_

_“What? You read, look at that trash!”_

_“Certainly not! I found them in John’s room. I was curious. There seems to be a lot of things I could do to bring you to climax, rather than having to do it yourself.” Sherlock asked in curious innocence. “I mean based on the sociological bias of gender, I AM supposed to bring you pleasure.”_

_“And I am not?” Molly arched an eyebrow at her lover._

_“Oh, most certainly…you do and you should continue. I rather like watching your hair fall backwards as you reach your climax as you are astride my thighs.”_

_“Oh Mr. Holmes, such talk will only result in more of the same pleasure as before.” Molly rose up and started to kiss and nip Sherlock’s shoulder as she travelled towards his neck._

_“You saucy minx, you can’t possibly want more?!” Sherlock cried in mock outrage, smiling as Molly’s mouth reached the shell of his ear._

_“More.” Was the heady whisper that emanated from a thoroughly pleasured Molly Hooper._


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Offensive socks....and a chase

Sherlock woke from his dreams. He didn’t want to wake up. His dreams were so much better, because she was there. Both of them still young, Molly as beautiful as the day he took her to his bed, Sherlock still strong and virile. _Ohhhh, the things they did to each other. The adventures they shared._ Sherlock closed his eyes, willing himself to dream again.

_He never slept much over the years, his kinetic energy always keeping him awake to late in the evening. At which time he would sometimes fall asleep on the living room sofa from sheer exhaustion. However, as soon as Molly started to be a more permanent fixture in his life, he would stumble down the hall at Baker Street to the bed they shared. The memories of her sweet face, her arms flung over her head, Molly’s preferred position to sleep in when he was not with her, as he soon came to find out was. When they lay together however, he would sleep with his hands folded on his chest and Molly would snuggle her petite soft length up against his long one, her lips resting at his shoulder, her hand laying nearby on his shoulder. Sherlock was not a fan of the snuggling or cuddling nonsense, except in the minutes after their love play, he seemed able to override the normal suffocating feeling he felt when Molly attempted to cuddle for too long. “It must be the endorphins.” Sherlock once muttered to himself as he held Molly close to his body after a particularly fiery amount of intercourse. Sherlock was surprised by the Molly’s willingness to explore things within the sexual realm, especially given his penchant for experimentation and observation._

_But Sherlock wasn’t against Molly lying next to him like this, her soft mouth close to his shoulder. She would sometime mumble things in her sleep, it always made Sherlock curious about what she dreamt about. But her body lying along his side was pleasant, almost pleasurable, to Sherlock. He was also want to absently stroke Molly’s bare feet if they were sitting on the sofa, Molly at one end, Sherlock on another tapping against the laptop balanced on his knees. It was one evening when Molly experienced it, they had not been lovers long. In fact, they were keeping their relationship on the down-low, however Sherlock assured Molly that Mrs. Hudson was well aware of their relationship given the lustful moans and sounds coming from 221b. Molly seemed concerned about this, but Sherlock only glanced at the desk and smirked as he remembered his initiation to the act of love by the sweet Molly Hooper. She returned to reading her medical journal, highlighting certain parts as she went along, her legs stretched out across the sofa, her sock-covered feet barely touching Sherlock’s leg. A few times, Molly wiggled her toes absently, causing Sherlock to look down at what was touching him. Realizing it was Molly’s atrociously patterned and colored sock covered feet, tonight it was bright pink socks with little green frogs on them, Sherlock smiled. At some point, Sherlock brought Molly’s feet to his lap, which allowed her to sink down onto her back, a much more comfortable position. They said nothing to one another, He tapping on the laptop, she reading her medical journal. From behind the journal she was reading, a wide smile came across Molly’s face. She continued to read, but her mind was too busy concentrating on the wonderful hands of one consulting detective was having on her feet. He was still tapping and clicking, but seemingly with one hand, since the taps and clicks were more sporadic. He had removed her socks as well, mumbling “offensive things” under his breath as he flung them away like they were rubbish. Molly was silently happy she had indulged in a pedicure a few days ago. She wasn’t one to go every month, but in the afterglow of her time with Sherlock in the previous weeks, she had pampered herself. Molly loved how his hands stroked and massaged her feet, bending the toes this way and that. Finally Molly lay down her journal, glancing at her tormentor, her lover, Sherlock Holmes._

_He was watching intently the computer scene, clicking the touch pad occasionally. He hands moving expertly on her feet. He did not see that she was watching him, he seemed so focused on what was on the computer screen. Molly slowly sat up, careful not to move her feet. It was then she saw the computer screen. The volume was down, but the screen clearly was demonstrating how to massage a foot._

_“Are you watching Youtube?” Molly asked softly with a smirk on her face, the hands on her feet stilling for a moment, then returning to their former movements._

_“It’s an excellent source of information, Molly.” Sherlock stated blandly as he continued to massage her feet._

_“I can feel it.” Molly stated with a twinkle in her eye. Sherlock clicked the touchpad with a flourish, turning towards Molly, his face expressionless._

_“I can feel that you stand far too long on your feet all day, Molly. It will do me no good if you are cripple by the time you are forty. Although I do think you should continue to indulge yourself in at least a monthly pedicure.”_

_“How did you know about…are you still having me followed by one of Mycroft’s henchman?” Molly huffed._

_“No, I can feel it. Your feet are soft, much too soft for someone who is on their feet as much as you. However there is a stiffness in your feet muscles that belies an infrequent habit of foot care at the professional level.” Sherlock restarted massaging Molly’s feet, feeling the tight, overused muscles._

_“I myself indulge in a monthly pedicure, haircut, and shave. It’s the small indulgences that make life livable my sweet Molly.” Sherlock tapped Molly’s nose playfully. Molly giggled and tucked her head shyly._

_“I shall make arrangements for you to also have such a regular indulgence for yourself, although I do not think a shave at the barber would be in order,” Sherlock ran a finger along Molly’s jaw line, “…although I do think women quite enjoy waxing as an alternative.” Sherlock arched an eyebrow, for which Molly arched an eyebrow back. She was not aware that Sherlock was so up on female grooming methods._

_“I wouldn’t say women enjoy waxing…but it does have its advantages.” Molly replied, her feet forgotten, as Sherlock gazed at her._

_“I agree. But I also know you have employed such methods of feminine grooming in the past, judging by your hairline around your pubic area.” Sherlock stated rather bluntly. Molly’s face turned pink with embarrassment. Would she ever get used to his manner of speaking, so plainly, bluntly. She thought of the advantages of such honest speaking, especially when he was in the throes of passion. It was almost hypnotically original the things he said to her._

_“You are so..so... Your vaginal walls are exquisite, the feeling of them sheathing me…”_

_“…the pilomotor reflex of your areola is fascinating when my breath or my tongue touches it.”_

_“..your anterior fornix is in an odd location Molly, however I revel in its discovery.”_

_That last memory made Molly’s breath catch a bit, causing Sherlock to tilt his head curiously as he continued to gaze at Molly’s pink cheeks and hitched breath._

_“You’re aroused.” Sherlock smirked. “It doesn’t take a consulting detective to see that. I wonder what you were thinking about to put you in such as state?” Sherlock’s voice almost purred with curiosity and excitement. Another experiment is all that Molly could consider….she liked Sherlock’s methods of experimentation._

The dream dissolved. Fading into the background of his mind as Sherlock continued to sleep his new dream coming in a great flash.

_They were running, hard. Sherlock had barely arrived at Molly’s flat to rescue her._

_He had visited New Scotland Yard in hopes there was movement on Moriarty. But there was nothing. He stood by the street, people moving this way and that. Idiots, all of them, he thought. Like lemmings. He tapped out a text to John, who was pursuing a possible lead regarding Moriarty’s new network in Southwark. Sherlock hailed a cab and climbed in. Telling the drive to take him to Southwark, he would meet up with John there. He sat in relative silent for a few moments, his hand in his pocket. There was something there, a slip of paper._

_Sherlock glanced at it with horror. Three simple words._

She will burn

_“Driver, I’ve changed my mind, take me to Farrington Road, quickly!” Sherlock shouted at the cab driver._

_The driver made a turn here and there. Sherlock thought to warn Molly, but then maybe that would lead her right into the trap. He had to get to her. The cab moved briskly. No time, no time. Soon they were close enough to Molly’s flat. Sherlock handed the driver 100 quid and ran off down the street._

_Sherlock raced up the four flights of stairs to Molly’s flat. The door lay ajar. NO, Sherlock thought, shoving the door open. Then he saw the man straddling Molly, his hands on her throat. Sherlock raged, throwing himself on the man, pulling him away, his arm wrapped around intruder’s throat in a fierce choke hold. The man kicked and flayed about trying to gain purchase to attack Sherlock. Sherlock’s face was one of pure fury, his eyes glassy and incensed as he continued to choke the life out of the man who would dare attack his Molly. The intruder’s tongue and eyes bulged out of his head from the pressure of Sherlock’s sinister hold. Finally the man slumped unconscious, dead probably. Sherlock didn’t care. He dropped the man unceremoniously, rushing to Molly who was on her hands and knees, breathing deeply and coughing at the same time. He wrapped an arm around her waist to comfort her, but before he could speak he smelled it. He smelled the gas._

_“Quickly! Molly, GO!!! GO!!” Sherlock lifted and practically carried Molly out the door. Her feet found purchase and Sherlock moved her down the hall to the stairs._

_“Run!! Molly! Quickly!!”_

_They reached the bottom floor and the earth below and above them exploded in a hot fiery ball. They barely reached the outside as the heat hit the stairwell. On the sidewalk, people fell to the ground in terror from the loud explosion. Sherlock was half on top of Molly as she turned to look up at her apartment building, now partially in flames. The other residents, only few since most were at work at this time, were stumbling through the entrance in shock and fright. It looked like her attacker was the only “victim” although Sherlock made sure he was dead before the explosion._

She will burn _. Sherlock remembered the ominous note left in his coat pocket. But when, where?_

_Suddenly, there was a wiz of concrete next to Molly’s head, a bullet strike. People scattered again. Sherlock rolled Molly away and under him._

_“We have to move!” Sherlock shouted, his face covered in soot from the explosion. His movements were strong and confident, pulling Molly between two buildings, hoping the sniper did not have a good angle._

_“Sherlock! What’s happening?” Molly her voice croaked within her injured throat._

_“It’s Morarity. We have to keep moving.” Sherlock grabbed Molly’s wrist and practically dragged her along, moving through the back alleys near St. Bart’s. Suddenly, there was another shot, lower, closer. Sherlock looked behind them, there was a man on foot, shooting at them, at her. Sherlock pushed Molly against the nearby wall, covering her with his body._

_“Sherlock, don’t. He’ll kill you to get to me.” Molly whispered desperately._

_“He won’t kill me. What’s the fun in that?” Sherlock countered, a sinister smirk on his face._

_“You don’t know that Sherlock! He’s insane!” Molly shouted at Sherlock, looking around frantically, secretly hoping he was right._

_“I do know that. Because that is what I would do.” Sherlock whispered with a bit unnervingly. Soon through he was pulling Molly through the alleyways, their pursuer not far behind them. Sherlock decided they need to get higher up, they were close to Thames and it may be their only way to lose their pugnacious pursuer._

_Molly was out of breath as they reached the rooftop of the 5 story building they had traversed. Their pursuer never more than 100 paces behind them, however he did not shot, well, not often. He seemed to be driving them, somewhere. Like he was getting instructions from the earpiece Sherlock could see. Sherlock gritted his teeth in frustration. Suddenly, the rooftop door slammed open, Sherlock and Molly dashed to the building edge, a side alley greeting them below. Sherlock moved to the other edge of the building, the side that met the Thames. He looked over the side cautiously. He looked back at the man with his gun trained on them both. Why doesn’t he shoot? Sherlock thought._

_“What are we going to do?” Molly asked nervously. She was exhausted, she had been attacked, and they had been running for 10 minutes with shots being fired at them._

_“You have to trust me.” Sherlock stated ominously, his hands hold Molly by her upper arms._

_“I trust you.” Molly answered breathlessly. Sherlock looked back at the man who was quickly advancing on them. This is what Morarity wants. He wants me to make the choice, and if something happens, it will be his fault. It was a lose-lose situation, a gun or a jump._

_“A jump it is.” Sherlock growled as he took Molly’s hand, stepping back several meters, turning both them back to the edge of the building facing the Thames. It was then Molly knew what he was planning on doing._

_“Oh, God.” Molly whispered, her body shivering in fear. Sherlock felt her shiver and gripped her hand a bit tighter._

_“Don’t worry Molly, it’s just like flying.” Sherlock stated is voice wavering a bit. Suddenly they were running, then they were leaping, then they were falling. Somewhere during the fall their hands had become unclasped. Molly closed her eyes as she waited to feel the pain, but concentrating on keeping her body vertical. If she hit the water horizontally there could be massive internal injuries. She and Sherlock it the water at almost the same time, neither of them knowing if the other had survived._

Sherlock woke suddenly from his dream, but quickly rolled over onto his other side to continue to remember. He wanted to remember.


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock mumbled her name in his sleep, but no one was around to hear him. He was alone…at Baker Street.

_Lestrade and the police had arrived shortly after he and Molly plunged into the freezing water of the Thames. Good thing too, since it wouldn’t have been long for them to have succumbed to hypothermia. Sherlock was divested of his thick black coat, now so heavy with river water that Molly marveled that it had not taken him down while they swam to the nearby dock. It was amazing they had survived at all. She feared they would land on something just below the surface, or it would be too shallow, or they landed badly, or…the possibilities were endless. Molly was huddled at the back of an ambulance, an orange blanket and a foil blanket, to keep heat in, wrapped around her. Sherlock did not seem to notice the wet clothing or the chill air as he spoke to Lestrade. Before long, Molly was ushered into a police car, Sherlock joining her as the vehicle sped off into the waning evening sunlight._

_“The temperature is dropping surreptitiously and soon, regardless of any “shock” blanket, these wet clothes will be our downfall, not a 100-foot jump into the Thames. I thought it best to get you home.” Sherlock remarked, his arm looping around Molly’s shivering body. He radiated such heat, she was amazed he was not shivering himself._

_“Aren’t you freezing Sherlock?” Molly asked through chattering teeth. Sherlock shook his head in the negative as he glanced out the window, the blue lights of the police cruiser clearing a path as the traveled through rush hour traffic. Molly either not believing him or just wanted to be closer to his warmth, lifted the blanket around Sherlock and pulled him closer to her._

_“For God’s sake, you’re freezing Molly!” Sherlock stated with real shock and concern. He saw her lips were not pink and inviting, but a slight bluish color. Sherlock in some instinctual manner pulled Molly closer, brushing his lips to her forehead._

_“We’ll be home soon, Molly.” Sherlock whispered._

_Minutes later, Sherlock was opening the front door of 221 Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson, unaware of the situation that had occurred, clucked and fussed over them both as they walked by._

_“Oh my lord, look at you two? What have you been up to now, Sherlock? It’s not wise to take a young lady out and almost drowned her you know?”_

_“Mrs. Hudson, spare us your brattle. Everything is fine. Molly is fine. I am fine. Stopping clucking around us like some old mother hen.” Sherlock announced with a bit too much irritation._

_“Sherlock! That was unkind!” Molly shouted as loudly as she could with her injured throat and chattering teeth. Mrs. Hudson stood there with her arms crossed over her chest._

_“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock paused, tossing his water logged phone, keys, and wallet onto the desk in dramatic fashion. “Molly…..Molly was attacked, we were almost killed. So forgive me if I am less patient regarding the current situation.” Sherlock turned towards Mrs. Hudson who had gasped in shock at the revelation that Molly had been attacked and they had been almost killed._

_Sherlock moved towards Molly, standing by the doorway, still huddled in the orange ambulance blanket. He gazed down at Molly lovingly, his hands stroking her upper arms lightly. Seeing the exchange, Mrs. Hudson, started to leave._

_“Let me bring you both some hot tea and biscuits. Warm you both up.”_

_“That would lovely, Mrs. Hudson. Thank you.” Sherlock replied. Molly and Mrs. Hudson paused at Sherlock’s graciousness, but then Sherlock tugged Molly into the kitchen carefully._

_He did not stop in the kitchen, but instead pulled her towards the bathroom. Opening the door for her, he motioned her inside. Molly walked on wooden legs into the bathroom, turning to face Sherlock. Sherlock followed her in and turned on the taps to start a bath. The water sufficiently warm, Sherlock turned to Molly._

_“Get out of those wet clothes. Get in the bath. It should warm you nicely.” Sherlock moved to leave her, taking the orange blanket with him._

_“Sherlock, I don’t have anything….anything to wear. Everything is….” Molly chin started to quiver as the reality as to what happened today began to sink in. Hot tears of fear, longing, grief began to pour out of Molly in strangled sobs. Sherlock grabbed Molly as her knees gave from under her, holding her to his chest, her tangled, matted hair plastered to her head. Sherlock sat on the bathroom floor, Molly sobbing into his shoulder as he held her._

_“It’s alright. Shhhhh….it’s going to be alright, Molly. Everything is…..going to be alright. I’m here, you’re here….we are here together. You’re safe. Shhhhhhh….I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”_

_Molly leaned back a bit, looking into Sherlock’s earnest and steadfast gaze._

_“I thought you made your last vow…at John’s wedding?” Molly whispered, smiling a bit. Sherlock smirked a bit, tucking an errant strand of Molly’s hair behind her ear._

_“One I made at the wedding was my last, however I have a few vows I have never told anyone. Perhaps one day I will tell them all to you.” Sherlock tapped Molly cold nose softly. “Come along, the water here is much better than your encounter earlier in the day.” Sherlock stated jokingly, helping Molly up and starting to leave._

_“Sherlock, thank you. Thank you for saving me…again.”_

_“It was my pleasure, Molly Hooper.”_

_Molly slipped into the warm bath and savored the warmth. She washed her hair with Sherlock’s shampoo, smiling as the scent drifted around her. After that she lay back and must have dozed for a bit since she did not hear the door open or close as Sherlock set his best dressing gown and an old t-shirt on the toilet lid._

_Molly exited the bathroom in the t-shirt and dressing gown, but felt very strange walking around sans her panties. Her wet clothes were gone, who knows what Sherlock had done with them. She walked into the lounge off the kitchen, Sherlock was at his desk tapping at his laptop, his second best dressing gown draped over his shoulders. His hair was almost dry, he had not changed clothes though._

_“Sherlock, shouldn’t you…”_

_“Oh there you are!” Mrs. Hudson squealed a bit too loudly, carrying a tea tray with her. On the tray was a small bottle of irish whiskey. “I brought you both that cuppa, and something a little extra to help warm you up if you need it. I was just telling…”_

_“Leave!” Sherlock announced none-to-politely. Mrs. Hudson smiled knowingly as she smiled sweetly at Molly, whose cheeks were pink from embarrassment._

_Sherlock rose from the desk, pouring the tea into one cup. Molly sat in “John’s” chair as most people who knew Sherlock and John understood it to be. Molly reached for the sugar bowl to add some to the cup being poured, and Sherlock waved her hands away. He added 3 spoonfuls, Molly’s preference, and a short shot of the Irish whiskey. Molly smiled as she took the cup from Sherlock, their hands brushing. Molly took a sip and hummed in appreciation of the fine tea drink Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson made. Molly looked up at Sherlock who continued to stand next to her chair. Sherlock reach across to the back the chair, lifting the gray and red plaid blanket there, tucking it around Molly’s bare feet and legs. As he leaned back up , he ran his finger along Molly’s jaw-line._

_“Rest here. I am to have a bath as well.” Sherlock gazed into Molly’s eyes for a moment and then walked away. Molly continued to drink her tea, feeling the lethargy the alcohol was creating in her stressed out body. The tea soothed her throat and her eyes drooped down, until her head was pillowed against her shoulder and the back of chair._

_John got a call from Lestrade about 30 minutes ago explaining what had happened. He was glad Mary and Emma were out of town, away from all this craziness. Still he made a call to Mary to be sure she was okay. It had taken him longer to get back to Baker Street, and with Sherlock’s phone out of commission and Molly’s blow up, it was impossible to call and find out what was happening. John arrived at Baker Street and ran up the stairs, calling for Sherlock._

_“In here John!” Sherlock called from his bedroom. Entering the kitchen, John moved down the hall towards Sherlock’s bedroom. Sherlock exited with his dressing gown and casual sleep pants and t-shirt on._

_“What the hell is going on? Lestrade phoned me told me you and Molly had to jump into the Thames to give Moriarty the slip.” John stated as Sherlock walked past him towards the lounge._

_“Something like that. But we’re fine.” Sherlock stated nonchalantly as he moved to his desk. From the corner of his eye he spied Molly’s sleeping form, curled in the overstuffed chair. Sherlock paused, noting the empty tea cup. Sherlock smiled, good he thought, she needs rest. At that point John noticed Molly’s sleeping form as well, his voice lowering in response to her clearly exhausted state. John moved around Molly, he noted the bruises forming on her neck, John seethed with anger. Sherlock picked up the tea tray and moved it into the kitchen, Molly’s discarded cup among them._

_Sherlock grabbed Molly’s cup, filling it. “Tea?” Sherlock offered to John._

_“Um, yeah. Thanks.” Sherlock handed John the unused cup and took a sip from the cup previously used by Molly. Sherlock opened the Irish whiskey bottle, pouring a dash into his cup, then offering to John, who nodded in the affirmative, holding his cup out. John drank deeply and then nodded towards Molly._

_“Those bruises on her neck look serious, Sherlock. I hope you took care of whoever did that to her.” John asked as he glanced knowingly at Sherlock._

_“He won’t be bothering Molly, or anyone else for that matter, any more.” Sherlock stated in a clipped and angry fashion._

_“So what now? What do we do? I mean, is this it? Are we always going to be looking over our shoulders Sherlock?” John asked pointedly._

_“No. I am going to find Morarity. And then I am going to kill him. Again.” Sherlock stated very calmly, placing the empty tea cup in its saucer on the tray. Before John could respond, Sherlock walked out of the kitchen to Molly. John watched as Sherlock peered down at Molly, he was obviously looking to the injuries to her neck. John saw Sherlock’s jaw flex ever so impeccably. John knew something was happening between Molly and Sherlock, but he was not quite sure. He hadn’t been sure since Sherlock had come back after The Fall. Molly’s involvement was clearly reasonable, but when Sherlock had gone missing John had discovered Sherlock used Molly’s flat as a bolt hole sometimes, her bedroom no less. Curious._

_John watched as Sherlock whispered something to Molly and watched with amazed fascination as Molly looped her arms around Sherlock’s neck as he lifted her gently from the chair. She was wearing clearly very little under Sherlock’s best dressing gown as Sherlock carried her through the kitchen and past a dumbfounded John. John watched as Sherlock whispered something to Molly, who giggled and Sherlock responded by chuckling low and softly. Sherlock and Molly disappeared in the bedroom for a few moments, with Sherlock exiting the room, no bothering to close the door. Curious, John thought, when Janine was here he always closed the door._

_Sherlock re-entered the kitchen and saw John’s bewildered state._

_“What?”_

_“What? What? I just watched Sherlock Holmes carry a half-naked Molly Hooper, both of whom were giggling and laughing, into his bedroom. What could be wrong with that?” John stated honestly._

_“Precisely.” Sherlock answered. “But I should tell you that Molly and I have been engaging in regular sexual intercourse for about a month now. Oh, and I lost my virginity to her as well. Does that about cover it? I mean you are my best friend, you should know these things right?” Sherlock asked quite innocently._

_“Ummm, yeah, right. Okay.” John reached for the bottle of Irish Whiskey, opened it, and took a long pull straight from the bottle._


	9. Chapter 9

Sherlock chuckled in his sleep remembering John’s reaction to Sherlock and Molly’s relationship. John, who was always one for good advice seemed to be at a loss. From that point on, Sherlock went to Mary when he was confused by Molly or something in their relationship. Mary was Sherlock’s good friend. It pained him to think of her gone, just like Molly. But at least at that time, Molly had been there for him, for both of them.

_Molly always had a kind word or a gentle touch to reassure those she cared for. The children had been especially cherished by Molly’s loving nature. She was made to be a mother. It was a truth Sherlock had to admit grudgingly admit to himself as he watched Molly play with other children. On a day even Sherlock had to admit was beautiful for a March day in London, he had reluctantly acquiesced to a walk through Hyde Park. There was not a cloud in the sky. Sherlock’s parents had come for a visit and were anxious to greet the young woman who seemed to have finally caught one of their son’s eyes. Mycroft also unenthusiastically joined them on this particular event because he could think of no other excuse he hadn’t already used in the recent past. It was Sunday, and the park was filled with people. Mary and John had joined them with little Emma being pushed in her pram. It had been little over a year since her arrival, and just over 9 months since Sherlock and Molly had become lovers. Lovers, Molly thought, that is what he called them. He detested the terms boyfriend/girlfriend, felt it was juvenile given the very adult things they did to each other a very regular basis._

_Sherlock’s parent’s walked behind Molly and Sherlock, who were locked arm in arm as they walked the pebbled pathways of the park. Sherlock was dressed in a crisp navy suit which fit his form perfectly. Molly was in a dark navy cotton dress that fit at the waist and flared out in beautiful folds. She had sensible kitten heights on in a nude tone and a small cross body handbag in navy and white. She never really indulged in such coordination, but since she had to rebuild her entire wardrobe from scratch, Sherlock insisted that she have some fine, pretty things. He had asked Mary to see to that Molly have those fine things. Secretly he lamented the loss of her cherry cardigan, and some of the garish colored jumpers that were uniquely Molly. However, Molly had seen fit to replace some of her bright colored jumpers and blouses. It made Sherlock happy to see his Molly return. As for the living situation, well, Molly was against moving into Sherlock’s bedroom. But she did agree to let out John’s old room from Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock had only ‘hmmpfed’ in indignation when she did in fact move into the room, although the situation worked to their mutual benefit. It had been 6 months they had lived together, and for Molly she was never happier._

_They walked silently, arm in arm, only Mycroft without someone to escort, which did not seem to bother him much, since he was talking on his mobile. John paused to pluck a fussy Emma from her pram._

_“Excuse me, Molly.” Sherlock immediately stepped forward to take charge of the pram from Mary, pushing it along as Mary and John fretted over little Emma. Molly was left standing alone, watching Sherlock. Sherlock’s father moved in gracefully and offered his arm to Molly. Molly smiled and looped her arm into the older Holmes and began to walk. Molly peered behind her and saw Sherlock’s mother smacking playfully at Mycroft as he lamented having to play escort. Molly grinned foolishly at the way their mother could rein in both Holmes’ boys with a simple look._

_“You have made my son very happy.” Sherlock’s father whispered, patting Molly’s hand lovingly._

_“I hope so. He makes me happy.” Molly responded shyly. She knew Sherlock did not like his parent’s meddling in his affairs, but they seemed so genuine, so normal to have two extraordinary children. Molly must have had a wistful look upon her face, because Sherlock’s father chuckled softly, but it faded as he looked to where Molly was gazing at. Sherlock had gathered little Emma Watson in his arms, and was walking briskly forward, pram forgotten as he spoke to her and held her in his arms. He swung his body this way and that, eliciting a childish laugh from the fussy baby. John and Mary walked ahead, safe in knowing their daughter was in safe hands, the best of hands. Molly watched how good Sherlock was with the babe. He did not seem to mind the spittle that was being spread upon his pristine suit._

_“Do not fret, my dear. You have but to ask and he will provide whatever it is you want.” The elder Mr. Holmes stated softly in Molly’s ear. Molly gazed up at him in surprise, shaking her head in the negative._

_“No. Sherlock, he wouldn’t…..want……” Molly’s voice trailed off sadly, looking at her feet._

_“He would want them. I promise you.”_

_“But Sherlock…he’s…Sherlock. He enjoys his freedom. He loves his work, his puzzles to solve. He would feel trapped in a life of even partial domesticity.”_

_“Ah, but what better and more continuous puzzle to solve for the great Sherlock Holmes that the puzzle of children and family.” Sherlock’s father nudged Molly lightly, both of them laughing. “My wife and I would be very pleased if you were the mother of our future grandchildren.”_

_“I suppose. But….it’s too….thank you. You have been both very kind and sweet to me.” Molly glanced at Sherlock, who was carefully replacing a very happy Emma into her pram. “I do love your son.”_

_“As he would tell us of you if we were to ask I am sure of it.”_

_“Sherlock has yet to tell me he loves me. But that is okay. It’s not his way, but I know he cares for me. In his own way.” Molly stated pleasantly._

_“I think he more than cares for you, but you are right he is a bit of an odd bird.” They both chuckled lightly as Sherlock walked back towards Molly and his father, casually wiping the spittle from his shoulder and arm of his expensive suit jacket with his handkerchief._

_“Thank you, Father. You may go now.” Sherlock waved his father away with an absent hand, taking care to hold Molly’s hand lightly on the crook of his arm. Mycroft seemed relieved that he would no longer have to listen to his mother discuss the gardenia bushes in the solar._

_Later that evening, the night had settled in. Molly rarely slept in her own bed, although there had been times when Sherlock and John had been away that she had decided to sleep there. But typically, she would fall asleep in his bed and he would join her much later in the evening._

_But this evening, Molly sat on the lounge sofa and Sherlock was in the kitchen experimenting on some body part Molly had brought home to him. It was quiet at 221b Baker Street. Almost too quiet. Sherlock peered around the corner, the safety glassed perched on his nose, blow torch in one hand, a crispy ear in a pair of tongs. Sherlock watched as Molly read her book silently. She had been quiet most of the day. He wondered what she had spoken about with his father. He cringed at the idea that his parents were once again meddling. He stepped back into the kitchen, his decision made._

_“Molly, could you come in here and assist me please?” Sherlock called without affect._

_Molly rose from her seat, dropping the book she was reading on the sofa absently. She padded through the doorway of the kitchen and paused._

_“Is that an ear you are hold with the cooking tongs?” Molly asked curiously. Sherlock looked down at the tongs and the ear, removing the safety glasses._

_“No good?” Sherlock asked curiously. Molly just smiled and giggled at her odd little lover. She walked over to the makeshift laboratory seemingly always present in the kitchen she was expected to eat and cook in. She would have to take the tongs to work and have them sterilized._

_“You needed me for something?” Molly asked as she leaned on the kitchen table peering over the bottles, beakers, cylinders of all sizes filled with things even she could not tell what they were._

_“I have been very quiet most of the day since were returned from our little outing today. Quite delightful I must say. However…..I wanted to ask….you…what you and my father spoke about today?” Sherlock stood looking at Molly. Her hair was in a loose braid over her right shoulder. He loved it when she worn it that way. He loved to unweave it right before they retired for bed. She would begin to unwrap the band holding it, and Sherlock could never resist running his hands through it. He would gladly brush it for her, but Molly seemed to enjoy his fingers in her hair as he knelt behind her. Tonight would be no different._

_“We just talked. He said you looked very happy. That I made you happy.” Molly answered honestly._

_“And you spoke about children.” Sherlock finished directly, his breath catching seeing the shock and confirmation in Molly’s gaze._

_“I’m sorry, Sherlock. He brought it up, I told him…” Molly stated anxiously. Sherlock moving around the kitchen table, a serious look on his face. He paused before Molly, looking down at her._

_“You told him what?” Sherlock whispered softly, his hands behind his back. Molly was nervous. She did not want to talk about this. She knew Sherlock was not happy about the discussion, but it was too early to talk about anything a serious as children._

_“I told him the truth, that you loved your work and solving puzzles. You would not be satisfied….” Molly’s voice trailed off._

_“And what did my father say to that?” Sherlock asked tilting Molly’ bowed head with his finger to look at him._

_“That you might surprise me, someday.” Molly said a bit breathlessly._

_“Indeed.” Sherlock stated plainly, kissing Molly chastely on the lips. “Now, what do you think of my little experiment?” Sherlock pulled the crusted and crispy ear between them, and right in front of Molly’s face. She tried to hold in her laughter, but she could not. Both she and Sherlock began laughing in earnest._

_Weeks, months fly by. Morarity is no more. Just the same dumb, simple criminals to track down. Sherlock was so bored, well not entirely bored. He found Molly was a delightful distraction to his everyday boredom. He had started to document their love play in earnest and was finding some intriguing anomalies in some of Molly’s reactions to him. Molly enjoyed it more when he was dominant with her, but not rough. Sherlock too seemed to enjoy this type of love play, so of course he started to research it. As part of his documenting their love play, he was also documenting Molly’s menstrual cycles. He could always tell when she was about to begin as she craved sweets and was more tired than any other time. However, he had also detected a pattern of increased arousal and stimulation on Molly’s part about 12 to 16 days after her cycle had restarted. Ah, Sherlock thought, in must be when she is most fertile. Her hormone levels must spike then. He had tried to convince her to give him a blood sample to confirm his suspicions, but she had flatly refused. She was accommodating to his research, but she had to draw the line._

_Fertility. Sherlock stroked his fingertips across his lips in silent contemplation. He knew Molly was on oral contraceptives, which may affect his research a bit. A child by Molly Hooper. Would she acquiesce without the benefit of marriage? He was not John. He loved Emma dearly. She was fascinating to him. She learned so quickly and her mind so clear and unfilled with useless knowledge. A child of his own was intriguing. Sherlock mused about what a child of himself and Molly would look like. Would it have hair dark as a raven’s wing or the color of chestnut with threads of gold? Would it have straight or curly hair? Would its eyes be the color of the sea or soft brown? Would he desire a son or daughter? Was there a way to choose? All these thoughts flew through Sherlock’s mind as he thought of the possibilities. He would ask Molly straight away for a child._

_Sherlock strode through the morgue door, Molly elbows deep in an autopsy, a protective face shield over her face. Sherlock strode towards her from around the corner, smiling at her. Molly could see he was going to say something to her, but she started to shake her head seemingly hoping from stopping him from speaking as he rounded the corner, his eyes bright with mischief and seriousness all in one. It was too late._

_“Molly! Wonderful you are here. Excellent! I have something to ask you,” Sherlock clapped his gloved hands together and rubbed them briskly in seemingly anticipation, “..I’ve given this a lot of consideration….no don’t shake your head until you hear me our…I think our relationship has progressed adequately to consider the conception of a child.” Sherlock announced out loud as he rounded the corner, a group of 10 medical students standing there watching him and Molly in amused surprise. Molly wanted to crawl inside the dead man right then, but then her heart secretly sang with joy at what Sherlock had just asked her, in the presence of God and everyone._


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More fluffly goodness.....sigh

Sherlock, unshaven and unkept, wandered about the halls of Baker Street, searching. Upon Mrs. Hudson passing away she left Baker Street to Sherlock and John collectively. Sherlock refused to allow anyone to remove any of Mrs. Hudson’s belongings from her 1st floor flat after her death. He even went to far as to find someone who would hum and whistle annoyingly, scrub pots and pans, and make tea a few times a week, although he would grudgingly admit the tea was nothing like Mrs. Hudson’s. How he had come to rely on so many inept people? He would often wonder. But his children, they were magically.

Sherlock flopped onto the sofa, rubbing his hands over his rough stubble. God, he felt old. Sherlock looked at the coffee table strewn with papers, newspapers, what he knew not. His flat was a mess. Sherlock saw a glint of light poking out from under a newspaper, a reflection of what little sunlight was present in the room seem to shimmer and glow. Sherlock reached across the papers, tossing them indifferently aside, focused on discovering the source of the offending light. His hand absently grabbed the flat object and he brought it in front of his face. A small gasp escaped his tight lips as he remembered.

In his hands was a lovely family portrait taken 10 years ago. Sherlock still had much of his youth still present and Molly was as beautiful as ever. Sherlock glanced at her smiling, happy face, stroking the picture in reverence as he stared. Sherlock looked at his eldest son in the picture, Cyril, who was 15 in the picture, then Camille, 13, Cecelia, 10 and Cillian, 8. They were so beautiful, all of them. Sherlock smiled and leaned in to kiss the picture gently, laying the portrait against his heart, as he drifted back into his mind palace, remembering….always remembering.

_Molly rolled over in her sleep to the opposite of the bed, flinging the down cover off her. It was the dead of winter and she was burning up. She had been having trouble sleeping of late as well. At least she didn’t have to be to work anytime soon._

_Molly weakly sat up, moving her legs over the side of the bed, her eyes still closed. She was so uncomfortable right now. Her hands went to her distended belly. I guess you had other ideas, Molly thought as she felt the strong movement within her womb. Normally he wasn’t too bad, but in the last few days he had been restless, moving this way and that. Well, she was close to her due date and it was getting very difficult for her son to get comfortable it seemed. Molly brushed her hair out of her face lazily. One thing about pregnancy, your hair gets awesome, Molly thought. But not your feet, Molly winced as she stood and walked quietly to the bathroom._

_Another pit stop to the bathroom. She felt like she lived in a bathroom nowadays. Sherlock was even amazed. He was so amazed he wanted to collect her urine to see just how much she was discharging._

_“Absolutely not, Sherlock Holmes!” Molly answered as she dried a cup and put it back in the cupboard there at Baker Street. Sherlock looked hurt by her refusal to participate in his experiment._

_“But Molly, you aren’t drinking that much fluid and Charlotte can’t possibly be producing that much waste, so….” Sherlock was absolutely certain it was a female Molly was carrying in her womb, so he had taken to calling her different girl names as a way to try them out. Recently it had been Charlotte. They had agreed not to confirm the baby’s sex after Sherlock had made the announcement that they didn’t need to confirm it, he already knew. Over the months he had measured, probed, articulated, and massaged Molly’s belly to investigate and determine what the baby’s sex was. Molly was tolerant, and she enjoyed Sherlock’s eagerness for the child joining them._

_“Sherlock don’t you think you have examined me enough already?” Molly stated as he wrapped a measuring tape around her heavy belly._

_“I have to capture all the relative data, Molly. You wouldn’t want me to be wrong about it being a girl, would you?” Sherlock teased as he tapped the measurements into his spreadsheet._

_“Ahh! You see, it’s a girl. Definitely a girl.” Sherlock smiled broadly, the tape measure hanging from his hand. Molly only smirked at him._

_“It’s a boy, Sherlock.” Is all Molly said with the smirk on her face as she faced him for the 100 th time._

_“You don’t know that.” Sherlock stated with a bit more irritation that he intended._

_“I think I would know. He’s inside me!” Molly laughed as she saw Sherlock’s unamused response._

_“Her! It’s a girl, Molly. I have the data.” Sherlock pointing to the computer then huffed into the kitchen. “Oh what would you know?” Sherlock yelled over his shoulder, Molly smiling. Molly walked over to Sherlock, pressing herself up against Sherlock’s back, wrapping her arms around him middle._

_“I know I am having your son. And a mother always knows.” Molly whispered teasingly. Sherlock turned in her embrace, looking down at her bright smile._

_“Daughter. You are having my daughter.” Sherlock saw Molly roll her eyes a bit, but relented. Sherlock kissed Molly sweetly, holding her close._

_“It did all happen rather quickly, don’t you think.” Sherlock commented absently, remembering how he had asked her to have a child with him in the morgue in front over everyone. Their argument about his request. Her joy and her fear of what Sherlock was asking of her. The week after their argument, Molly carried her oral contraceptives into the kitchen. Sherlock was once again doing another experiment. He noticed what she was carrying her hand, the perplexed look at her face. Sherlock watched as Molly held up the packet in front of her with a smile, and summarily chucked them into the rubbish bin. Sherlock remembered rushing into her arms and kissing her fiercely._

_“Yes, it did happen rather quickly.” Molly smiled at Sherlock. “Oh! I’ve got to dash, Mike Stamford wants me to go over a few things with me before I am officially gone.” Molly wrapped her scarf around her neck, started pulling on her gloves._

_“And I think your parents want to come for a visit…” A loud groan was all Molly heard from Sherlock as she continued, “...I think they said they were going to stay with Mycroft since the baby could arrive….any day now.” Molly smirked as she saw Sherlock’s face lite up with delight at his brother’s certain anguish over a parental visit or maybe the impending birth of his son, Molly wasn’t quite sure which gave him greater joy._

_Molly shuffled down the hall. She was hungry…again. Molly reached up to open the cupboard and a sharp pain radiated across her lower back and to her front. She had felt something similar a few days ago, but nowhere this intense. The feeling made her eyes water a bit and she had to brace herself against the counter, breathing through the wave of pain. This has to be labor pains, Molly thought. She was only a week from her due date, so she was right on schedule. The pain subsided and her body relaxed. Molly took a few deep breaths to calm herself._

_“I guess I am going to meet you very soon, huh?” Molly whispered as he stroked her belly softly._

_“Who will be meeting at this ungodly hour?” Sherlock asked from behind her, his hair wild and untamed, his dressing gown hanging loosely from his lean frame. Molly gasped in fright, spinning around to look at where the voice was coming from._

_“Jesus, Sherlock! You scared me!” Molly shouted, her hand over her heart and belly. Sherlock moved pasted Molly to the cupboard behind her. Her late night trips to the kitchen had become a regular occurrence in the last trimester. Sherlock was sometime awake when she awoke, and would make her scrambled eggs and toast. Sherlock started to take out the fry pan to cook Molly her eggs and toast, when another contraction hit Molly. Sherlock only heard her sharp intake of breath, causing him to turn curiously. Molly was holding onto the kitchen table, a very pained expression on her face, she holding her breath._

_Sherlock moved toward Molly, concerned and touching her hand._

_“Breath, Molly. You have to breathe.” Sherlock whispered softly, his hands disengaging the death grip Molly had on the table._

_“It hurts to breath.” Molly responded with a slight wobble of uncertainty in her voice._

_“Watch me.” Sherlock took a breath, and Molly watched and began to mimic his breathing. Soon she found the pain was gone and her body relaxed. Sherlock pulled her into his arms._

_“When did they start?” Sherlock asked into Molly’s hair._

_“That was only the second one.” Molly responded, shaking a bit, anxious._

_“I knew something was wrong when I didn’t hear the cupboard door open and shut.” Sherlock responded felling Molly shake. Molly moved back a bit, smiling widely._

_“Sherlock, we’re going to have a baby.” Molly stated in almost whimsically. Sherlock smiled that smile as if to say “Silly girl.”_

_“Go rest in the lounge. I’ll collect your hospital bag. Change and escort you to the hospital.” Sherlock moved Molly calmly to the sofa, but under all that calm he was a nervous wreck. But he had to be calm and strong for Molly, and his child._

_“Make sure you call…..everyone.” Molly asked Sherlock as he walked away, he winked at her as he turned the corner to the kitchen._

_Several hours later, Sherlock wasn’t so sure having a baby was such a good idea. Molly was in such pain, which he understood was natural, but he was amazed at the length and breadth of the waves of pain wracking Molly petite frame. The nurses assured him Molly was progressing perfectly, however Sherlock was not sure about how much more he could stand to watch her in such pain. However, he stayed with her, he would not abandon her as she did this thing, for him, for them. Before long, it was time for Molly to push. The nurses had instructed Sherlock to sit behind Molly and support her. As she pushed in conjunction with each contraction, Sherlock held Molly’s hands. Her grip was strong and he could feel her strength as she tensed her body to push forth their child._

_Molly fell back against Sherlock, who was dressed in a hospital gown the hospital staff had given him. Sherlock smoothed Molly’s hair from her sweat streaked face._

_“You are doing magnificently, Molly.” Sherlock stated a bit awkwardly. The nurses had told him to encourage and support, encourage and support._

_“Oh, god. Sherlock……it hurts so much.” Molly stated with a bit of fear._

_“Well, the relative size of the average woman’s….” Sherlock was cut off as another contraction gripping Molly, who groaned and pushed. The contraction seemed to last longer than the others_

_“The baby is crowning.” The doctor announced. “Come on, Molly, give me one more good solid push and your baby will be delivered.” The doctor explained encouragingly._

_Sherlock kissed Molly’s sweaty forehead, “You can do this. You can do this.” Sherlock whispered, holding Molly against him. The contraction hit and Molly pushed, but she did not have to push very hard for the baby to be born. A wave of released pressure fanned out through Molly’s tense body. It was a wonderful feeling, euphoric almost. Molly fell back against Sherlock, her body relaxed, then they heard it, the wail of a newborn. Molly looked to between her legs, Sherlock following her gaze. There it was. Sherlock had never been more terrified in his life, not during the Fall, not in Prague, not when facing down Magnusson. This tiny being was more terrifying than them all combined. Things happened quickly after than moment. And then suddenly…._

_“You have a beautiful baby boy.” The nurse gently laid the pink, squirming baby into Molly’s arms. Sherlock looked in amazement at the being before him. He was the sum total of Molly and himself. It was strange to gaze upon a being that was made up part of your genetic history. Suddenly the reality of what he had done hit Sherlock. What had he done? He thought. It was too late to turn back now. He never had any doubts before now, up until now it seemed like a game, a puzzle. Now a wholly new type had arrived for him to solve. His son._

_“I told you it was a boy.” Molly whispered cooing tenderly at the drowsy infant._

_“Well, you are the mother. I would expect that you would be fully aware of the offspring you would be carrying.” Sherlock responded as he watch his son fall asleep. Molly’s mouth opened in mock outrage._

_“All those times I tried to te….” Molly outrage was cut off by Sherlock’s kiss._

_“Shhhhh, Cyril is sleeping.” Sherlock whispered, nodding towards the dozing infant._

_“Hold him.” Molly gave young Cyril Holmes into his father’s caring arms. The nurses started to talk with Molly, checking her vitals, getting this re-arranged. Sherlock walked away holding his son, Molly watched him gazing down at the baby who had just arrived, biting her lip to keep from crying any more. Sherlock seemed lost in his own world as he stood with his son in his arms._

_“Mr. Holmes? Mr. Holmes? We….we need to…check his vital signs and make sure everything good with him.” The young, kind nurse explained, hold her arms out for the baby._

_“Why wouldn’t everything be okay? He’s fine. Everything’s fine. He’s perfect.” Sherlock replied in irritation by the nurse implying there as anything wrong with Cyril._

_“It’s just protocol, Mr. Holmes. You are welcome to join me. Over here.” The nurse seemed to understand Sherlock’s hesitancy to relinquish his newborn son. Molly watched the entire exchange, smiling how the nurse easily handled Sherlock. Clearly he was not the first first-time father she had encountered._

_Sherlock walked to the exam table. His brow furrowed at the obviously cool surface. He glanced at the nurse in annoyance. The nurse smiled and responded to his unasked question._

_“The surface is heated. See. Feel it.” The nurse put her hand on the surface. Sherlock reached over and found the surface pleasantly warm. He looked warily at the nurse again._

_“I promise I’ll take good care of him. But you can stay with him if you like.”_

_Sherlock turned to Molly, who had been tidied up nicely and was almost asleep. Molly smiled and waved her hand, shooing him off. Sherlock smirked and placed his son on the examination table._

_“Now I won’t guarantee he won’t cry. But who wouldn’t cry being out here in the world, when he was just a bit ago warm in safe inside his mummy.” The nurse spoke baby talk to Cyril, Sherlock cringed a bit. He would never speak that way to his son._

_“What’s his name?”_

_“Cyril. Cyril Matthew Holmes.” Sherlock responded. They had agreed on a boy’s name, but only under duress had Sherlock agreed to even discuss it. Sherlock laughed softly as he watched the nurse manipulate Cyril’s legs, arms, check his heart rate._

_“He’s a good weight. 3.5 kilos. 50 centimeters. Very good. Excellent.”_

_Cyril started to cry again, and the nurse let him a bit. It was unnerving for Sherlock to hear his son cry like that._

_“Sorry. We have to let them cry a bit to get an idea of their lung function. Only way you really can tell. So I think he’s 9, not bad.” The nurse smiled._

_“9 out of what?” Sherlock asked curiously._

_“10, he’s a 9 out of 10.”_

_“Why isn’t he a 10?” Sherlock asked conceitedly._

_“No baby is never a 10, Mr. Holmes. A 9 is very, very, very good.” The nurse explained reassuringly, but a bit nervously._

_“Then why do you even have a 10 rating?”_

_“Mr. Holmes, it’s just a way to categorize if there are any concerns.”_

_“Does Cyril display any of these concerns?” Sherlock asked pointedly._

_“Well, he did seem to be a bit unfocused.” The nurse explained softly._

_“He’s a 10. He does not have any thing of real importance to be focused on. Maybe he’s just bored.” Sherlock explained very unswervingly and in rapid succession leaning in on the nurse._

_“Ah, yes. Yes, perhaps I was mistaken. He’s definitely a 10. Thank you. Thank you for correcting me, Mr. Holmes.” The nurse began to scribble on Cyril’s chart, Sherlock leaned back with a self-satisfied look on his face. Molly’s son was a 10. He was perfect. Just like Molly._


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter...it was really meant to go with previous one...but I liked how the previous chapter ended....thanks for all those who have reviewed and commented.

And he dreamt……

_Cyril and Molly arrived back at Baker Street a little over 24 hours after he was delivered. Sherlock was amazed at Molly’s recuperative abilities given what he had witnesses during Cyril’s birth. Sherlock huffed at the nurse who was giving Molly some guidance around a newborn. Molly didn’t need any advice about young, little Cyril. Sherlock guided Molly, who had their new son bundled up against the elements, to bring him home. Home…..Sherlock mused. Baker Street was no longer a refuge from the idiots of the world, it was now something wholly different._

_A cab was waiting outside the hospital. The weather was frigid and Molly moved quickly to enter the warm vehicle. The driver smiled as he saw Molly, the new baby, and then Sherlock who climbed in. Sherlock gave the address and they were off._

_About 3 months before Cyril’s arrival, Molly had set about renovating her “rented” room into a nursery, although she lamented it was so far away from her shared bedroom with Sherlock._

_“Well, that’s what baby monitors are for I guess.” Molly mumbled as she scanned the room, thinking of the possibilities. Unfortunately, Sherlock had other ideas._

_“Molly? What are you doing?” Sherlock asked as he saw Molly carry a few light items down the stairs for the third time._

_“What does it look like? The baby needs a place the sleep. He’ll be here before we know it.” Molly answered, setting the boxes down on the coffee table in the lounge._

_“That’s ridiculous. That room is too far away to be an effective sleeping area. Especially since you are considering to breastfeed HER.” Sherlock stated directly emphasizing the last word. Molly smirked again._

_“I didn’t say I was going to breastfeed?” Molly stated questioningly. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, as he turned from his desk._

_“Oh? So you have decided against it have you? I figured given your knowledge of medical advantages, your maternal instincts, and your semi-traditional nature that you would desire such.” Sherlock answered, a bit of concern in his voice. Molly walked towards Sherlock, his hand instinctively going to her swelling abdomen. Molly ran her fingers gently through Sherlock’s disheveled curls, he had not slept much in the past few days._

_“I guess you are right. But where….” Molly started to ask._

_“She will just have to sleep with us, in a bassinet of course, but then we can figure something out.” Sherlock interrupted Molly as he stood up and walked to the kitchen. He walked out with a beautiful wicker and cloth bassinet that had a detachable base, but was large enough to accommodate a larger infant if needed. Sherlock smiled as Molly smiled and clapped her hands softly._

_“Oh Sherlock! You got it! The one we saw at that store window we past a few weeks ago!” Molly rushed over to inspect it, marveling at how well-made it was. There was a soft, but firm pad on the bottom to provide cushion to their child._

_“The sales associate, an interminably bubbly and happy old woman that I had to listen to prattle on the entire time I purchased it, assured me it was the best on the market. I did my research, in this she is correct.”_

_“I love it! Its perfect!” Molly remarked happily._

_“Excellent.” Sherlock returned to his desk, flipping his dressing gown back with a flourish as he sat. “Oh, and I would be much happier if you did breast feed.”_

_“Really? That would mean I would have to get up every time with him. What about my career?” Molly stated curiously. Sherlock glanced up and then back down, continuing to type._

_“I am given to understand there are methods to express your milk from your breasts so it can be stored. And then I would be able to assist in the care of this child.” Sherlock continued to type into the laptop absently. “I don’t see any reason that this would impede your career Molly.” Molly nodded slightly, they hadn’t spoken about what would happen after the baby arrived, and this was a small step forward._

_Sherlock exited the cab, advising Molly to stay inside as he went to open the door to 221 Baker Street. Before he got there, Mrs. Hudson opened the door. She seemed to be waiting for them. Sherlock paid the driver and Molly and Cyril were spirited into the warm confines of Baker Street._

_“Oh my! Just look at him! He is lovely, Sherlock! Truly an angel from heaven.” Mrs. Hudson cooed as she held little Cyril. Sherlock cringed at the amount and breath of baby talk coming from the small woman. He knew it would only get worse when his parents arrived. His lip curled in revulsion at the prospect._

_Molly had retired to the bedroom shortly after they arrived. Sherlock peered into the room to check on her. Sherlock’s brow furrowed at her appearance. Her face was pale and she seemed exhausted. Cyril was sleeping soundly in the bassinet in the lounge. Sherlock gazed at the little human lying before him. He was dressed in a warm flannel footed onesie in a lilac color – a present from Mary who had always been the son camp with Molly regarding the sex of the baby. Sherlock looked around like he was about do something naughty as he gazed at his son._

_“He’s my son, for god’s sake.” Sherlock stated a bit annoyed. He gingerly gathered up the baby boy into his arms, surprised the baby did not fuss much. He must be getting better at this since he had been able to practice with Emma. Sherlock carried his son to his chair and sat, as he so, Cyril opened his eyes lazily. Sherlock’s breath caught a bit at the sight, the firelight from the nearby fireplace casing shadows across Sherlock’s face._

_Sherlock placed Cyril on his knees and for a while Sherlock and Cyril gazed at one another. Cyril’s gaze seemed to wander a bit, but Sherlock’s was unwavering, curious about this little person before him. Sherlock examined him bit by bit. He did the same to Emma not long ago, but with Cyril it was different. Cryil was him, and he was Cyril. Once, long ago, Sherlock had been the same size, approximately. Sherlock played with Cyril’s hands and feet, looking at the soft down of dark hair on his perfectly round head. His eyes were dark, tinged with blue, but Sherlock knew that all babies have bluish eyes at birth. They might change…but to which soft brown or blue-green? Cyril moved a bit, seemingly trying to fuss, but was so tired, he did not have the strength. Sherlock gently lifted Cyril, gathering him under the arms, raising Cyril to Sherlock’s nose. Sherlock breathed in deeply the beautiful aroma of unsullied newness of his young son. Sherlock’s eyes closed in the memory. He would always remember that smell….even when he was an old man he would remember._

_Molly stood in the kitchen entryway, facing the fireplace and lounge, watching Sherlock smell his son. The baby’s head only move slightly about, realizing the issue Sherlock gently cradled the child’s head into his hands, and moved him back into the crook of his arm._

_“Perfection. That is what you are. But not as perfect as your mummy, though…” Sherlock paused and stroked Cyril’s downy cheek, “I think I might love her even more than I thought I did.  Because she gave me you. I did not think that possible.”_

_Molly’s gasp caught Sherlock’s attention and he glanced up seeing Molly smiling face, her hands over her mouth in shock and happiness. Sherlock smiled, looking back down bashfully._

_“We have been caught.” He whispered to Cyril, who was starting to awaken more and more as the minutes ticked by. Molly walked to him and knelt by his chair._

_“You said you loved me.” Molly whispered as she stroked both her lover’s cheek and the downy softness of her newborn son’s head._

_“Of course I love you.” Sherlock stated blankly. Molly hugged Sherlock, careful of Cyril._

_“You never said it until now.” Molly replied. Sherlock began to rewind his mind to see if that was true. He could have sworn he said he loved you before. Perhaps she wasn’t there when he was speaking again. At that moment, Cyril decided to fuss in earnest. Molly scooped him up like she was a pro, and sat in the chair opposite Sherlock._

_Sherlock reached for the tea cup next to him, grimacing at the cold tempature._

_“Tea?” Sherlock asked as he rose to make more._

_“That would be lovely, yes.” Molly replied as she unbuttoned her top. Sherlock stopped in fascination as he watched Molly expose one of her breasts and begin to feed his son. Sherlock knelt by the chair silently in wonderment. Cyril needed little coaxing, although his pulls were still weak so soon after birth. But when he latched on properly, he seemed very content._

_“Is he having trouble feeding, Molly?” Sherlock asked in a very concerned voice._

_“He’s still weak from the birth. He only can nurse for a few minutes before he’s exhausted. That is why I have to get up with him every two hours. At least in the beginning….” Molly replied, stroking Cyril softly._

_“Well, you will need to pump as much milk as possible so I may assist.” Sherlock stated as he worked in the kitchen._

_“No experiments on the milk, okay? It’s for the baby.” Molly stated directly to Sherlock, who seemed to pout at being caught._

_“But I was going to test the chemical prope…..”_

_“No tests! Baby, only!” Molly replied with a chuckle, as Sherlock mumbled something under his breath._

_Cyril grew quickly. He had is mother’s eyes, but his father’s coloring. His hair was straight, not a curl in sight. He had an easy disposition, and laughed easily. As he grew, Sherlock witnessed more and more miracles, but he was also filled with dread that one day something would go wrong, and Cyril and Molly would be gone. It was his greatest fear…….._


End file.
